


Letters to Christine

by Lbilover



Series: Letters to Christine Series [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Adult Themes, Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, Epistolary, Holidays, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Widowed, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-17 03:28:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 86,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9302204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lbilover/pseuds/Lbilover
Summary: Sean is a grieving widower with three children who meets Elijah, a young man on the run from his past, and offers him first a place to stay and then a home and finally his heart.





	1. Letter 1: Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> The first part of this story was written for the 2007 Sean/Elijah Christmas Extravaganza. For some time, I had a persistent image of a despairing Sean going into a church- why, I had no idea, all I knew was that he was facing a crisis of some sort. Then I saw this [Youtube video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gsyTxiCQ7Vs). And that became the jumping off point for this fic. The story unfolds over the course of a year, with letters written in conjunction with holidays or other special occasions. Please note that this is a work in progress.
> 
> This fic contains high levels of angst, but will absolutely have a happy ending.

~*~

December 24th

My darling Chris, 

It’s been a few days since I’ve written to you; I’m sorry. Things have been pretty hectic here, as you can imagine, with present wrapping and cookie baking and various members of your family and mine almost constantly underfoot (I don’t mean that the way it sounds—they are doing their utmost to help me and the girls through this difficult time, and god knows I appreciate it). 

But the last lingering relative (your brother) has been shooed out the door, Allie, Lizzy and Bella are tucked into their beds, and I have a quiet space of time to devote to your letter at last. It took forever for the girls to settle down. Well, it always does on Christmas Eve—except for last year. 

Elijah was surprisingly helpful in coaxing them to go up to their rooms. He has a quiet authority matched with an easy manner to which they instinctively respond, and which leads me to believe that he is older than he looks, and has some experience with children. I don’t know if he’ll be around long enough for me to find out his age or if he has any siblings, but I do know that now is not the time to ask him any personal questions. He definitely isn’t ready.

In any event, visions of sugarplums are hopefully dancing in the girls’ heads now. They’ll be up with the sun, of course, if not earlier, but everything’s ready for them: the stockings are filled and the presents are piled under the tree—well, under and around and halfway up the tree would technically be more accurate. I went a little overboard with the gifts, Chris, I admit it; I am overcompensating madly, as is my wont. Not that all the toys in Santa’s workshop could ever equal the only, and impossible, present Allie put on her list: you. 

But I promised you I wouldn’t dwell on that, didn’t I? So, enough.

The special Santa plate is _sans_ chocolate chip cookies, except for a few telltale crumbs, and the special Santa milk glass is nearly empty. Elijah ate the cookies and drank the milk; he protested at first, but I could tell he wanted them—he seems perpetually hungry and is the least-likely-looking Santa stand-in you can imagine—and I couldn’t have choked them down myself. Not this year.

There, I’m doing it again, but I’m determined not to be a wet blanket, for the sake of the girls. I desperately want them to enjoy this Christmas. So, enough _and_ enough. I won’t cry all over _this_ letter. I promise.

Elijah’s astonishment when the girls presented him with his Christmas stocking this morning at breakfast was almost comical. You’d have been proud of them: they insisted he had to have a stocking, although he’s only been with us for two days, and they even helped him hang it on the mantel. Allie wrote his name on it with Elmer’s Glue-All and silver glitter. Oh Chris, you’ve never seen such uneven lettering—I’m afraid you were right, and she’s inherited my erratic handwriting. 

Elijah won’t be expecting to find anything in the stocking besides the candy cane and Hershey’s kisses that the girls added (and Chris, I wish you could have heard Lizzy explaining to Elijah, very seriously, that the ‘bumps’ in the toe of his stocking weren’t lumps of coal but candy; he actually appeared on the verge of smiling for the first time), but I snuck away to CVS and battled the last minute shoppers for a few essential items to put in it—razors, toothpaste, that sort of thing. He doesn’t have much in the way of belongings—a backpack holds all his worldly possessions, if you can believe it—and he shouldn’t put up too much of a fight if they’re given as stocking stuffers. 

One observation I’ve made about Elijah already: he’s prickly as a porcupine and practically has to be forced into accepting even the smallest favor. Thank god for the girls—it’s more difficult for him to say ‘no’ to _them_. I admit to employing subterfuge in the form of our eldest daughter to get him to accept a loan of a few hundred dollars. When prompted by me, Allie was more than happy to express dismay at the state of Elijah’s clothes and hair, and offer to help him pick out some new things and get a haircut at the mall. 

Fiscally irresponsible, no doubt, to give him so much cash, as he could bolt and run at any moment, but he has assured me very earnestly that he’ll pay me back every dime, and somehow I believe him. I don’t care about repayment, although money is tight this year, but if it will make him feel better about _himself_ to reimburse me when he’s on his feet again, I’ll accept the money and keep my mouth shut. 

Why are you smiling, Chris? I _can_ keep my mouth shut sometimes, you know.

I’ve persuaded Elijah not to think about looking for a job until his bruises fade and the cut over his eye heals- he wouldn’t be an inspiring sight to any prospective employer right now- and I’ve made certain he understands that he’s welcome to stay here until he can find work and his own place to live. I’ve carefully avoided asking him how his injuries were incurred, but of course the girls aren’t hampered by the same inhibitions that an adult is. All he would say in answer to Allie’s anxious, ‘Oh what happened to your poor face’, however, is that he slipped and fell on some ice. But I know what the mark of a fist looks like, Chris. 

Funny. It occurs to me now that my references to Elijah must have you completely bewildered, wondering who Elijah is, and what on earth he’s doing in our home, this young man of whom you’ve never heard before. Forgive me; as I said, it’s been a hectic few days.

But no… No, I’m not being truthful with you, and I promised you the day I asked you to marry me that no matter what, I would always tell you the truth.

I haven’t written sooner about Elijah because, although I assured him that it was what you would have wanted me to do, a part of me wonders if you’ll think that I’ve taken an irresponsible risk in inviting him into our home, perhaps even believe that I’ve endangered our beloved daughters. Because I know very little about Elijah, except that he’s battered and bruised in spirit as well as body, and desperately in need of a helping hand. 

And he’s completely alone, and surely no one should ever be alone at Christmas.

Our families think I’ve lost my mind. Both sets of parents have pulled me aside and lectured me about being ridiculously impulsive and allowing a stranger to take advantage of me- and they don’t know about the money or... other things. They appear to think my actions are some bizarre manifestation of grief. Maybe in a way, they’re right. Because looking into Elijah’s eyes was like looking into a mirror. And in my heart of hearts, Chris, I have to believe that had you been sitting there in my place, you wouldn’t have hesitated either to offer him shelter from whatever storms he’s had to endure. 

Well, I’m doing it again, aren’t I? I can picture your wry smile and hear you say with exaggerated patience, “Sean, would you please get to the point?”

You will be surprised- possibly even shocked- to learn that I met Elijah in St. Cecilia’s. Yes, you heard me right: St. Cecilia’s. I went downtown on Tuesday morning to run some errands and pick up a few last minute gifts, and I was trying my best to put myself in the holiday spirit, to feel like the garish decorations and never-ending carols were a pleasant immersion in the spirit of Christmas rather than a hellish assault on my senses. I was succeeding rather well, I thought. But then I was ambushed in the Dunkin’ Donuts-by Judy Garland, of all people.

_Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas_ must be the cruelest Christmas song ever written. 

I guess we watched _Meet Me in St. Louis_ too many times over the years, Chris, laughing about how much Tootie reminded us of Allie, secure in the knowledge that our little family would never suffer through what the Smiths did. Now, try as I might, I can't get the lyrics to that song, or the melancholy sound of Judy’s voice, out of my mind.

_Have yourself a merry little Christmas,_  
Let your heart be light  
From now on,  
our troubles will be out of sight 

_Have yourself a merry little Christmas,_  
Make the Yule-tide gay,  
From now on,  
our troubles will be miles away. 

_Here we are as in olden days,_  
Happy golden days of yore.  
Faithful friends who are dear to us  
Gather near to us once more. 

_Through the years_  
We all will be together,  
If the Fates allow  
Until then we'll have to muddle through somehow.  
And have yourself  
A merry little Christmas now. 

Oh Chris, I don’t know what scares me more: the knowledge that we never will all be together again, or the idea that someday our troubles _will_ be miles away, that I’ll learn to live without you, or forget how you looked and smelled and sounded…

God, I’m sorry. I’m trying, I really am. But it’s so fucking, fucking hard.

I nearly bolted from the store without waiting for my coffee—only that inherent stubbornness that used to drive you nuts and a reluctance to waste good money kept me in place. I don’t even remember how I got out of there, to be honest, but I have vague impressions of bumping into several people waiting in line and nearly dropping my coffee. 

When I got outside, it had started snowing: big, lazy, lacy flakes. The whole downtown looked some frigging Hallmark card- but a blurry one, because I just couldn’t stop the tears, Chris, though you’d think I’d have run out by now- and that damn song kept playing over and over in my head: _Through the years, We all will be together, If the Fates allow_. I needed to get away, find someplace quiet to recover my equilibrium, before I sat down on the sidewalk and bawled like a baby. So I ran across the street- and I’m ashamed to admit I nearly caused an accident- and into St. Cecilia’s.

I know it seems strange, given how many letters I’ve written about my crisis of faith since you left us, that I would voluntarily find refuge there of all places. I’d say ‘any port in a storm’, but now that a little time has passed, and given what happened, I can’t help but wonder if I wasn’t somehow… well, _guided_ there for lack of a better word. Now you really _are_ shocked, aren’t you: me, Mr. Skeptic, Mr. Doubting Thomas, implying that some higher force was at work? But I went into the church with no intention of doing anything more than waiting inside the front doors until I had myself under control and then leaving again as quickly as possible. 

So why did I go into the nave, Chris, instead of leaving after I forced back the tears and dried my eyes? I didn’t intend to, didn’t want to, dreaded what I’d find there (how can one place be both the source of one’s happiest and one’s saddest memories??) but as if against my will, I found myself pushing open the door, stepping inside, genuflecting and crossing myself before sliding into a pew at the back.

You know, I’d never been in there before when it was empty. It felt so odd, and I realized suddenly how much background noise there is during a service: the creaking of wood as people shift in their seats, the thud of the kneelers being let down, the muted coughs, and the whisper of missal pages being turned. 

The smell of incense and the smoke from the votive candles were suffocating, and the silence pressed down on me with the weight of a thousand memories, holding me in place. I tried to shut off my mind, but it was useless. How could I not think of you, of us, there in the very place where I married you, where I held our children while they were baptized, where I said goodbye to you for the last time… 

I dreaded what I’d see if I looked toward the altar- you, radiant with happiness on our wedding day, or a flower-draped coffin; either seemed horrible to me right then- so I took out Granddad’s pocket watch and began to fiddle with it, turning it over and over in my hands and focusing on it as if it held some hypnotic charm that could take my mind off the past and prevent me from turning my face heavenward and railing against God yet again for stealing you from us. I completely lost track of time then, mired in my self-pity, until I was startled back to myself by several loud sneezes in succession- they sounded almost like gunshots in the silence and I literally jumped. That’s when I realized that I wasn’t alone, after all.

I was expecting to see Father Michael appear, blowing his nose and sighing and bemoaning the fact there is no such thing as hypoallergenic incense, and began mentally preparing myself for his ‘we cannot question God’s will, Sean, we simply must accept it and have faith in Him’ speech. Father Michael is in many ways a good priest and he’s a very kind-hearted man, but the last thing I needed at that moment was another from his store of well-meaning platitudes. But you’ve heard more than enough from me on _that_ score, haven’t you.

But it wasn’t Father Michael who had sneezed—it was a man whom I hadn’t noticed when I came in. He was sitting in a pew a few rows up and across the aisle. I couldn’t make out much more than the back of his head and his hunched shoulders under a hooded sweatshirt and denim jacket. I wondered what had brought him into the church, and to keep my mind off my own troubles began to speculate on his. I don’t know why I was so certain that he was miserable, too. Maybe it was his attitude that made me think he was no stranger to grief: gathered in on himself as if waiting for the next disaster to befall him.

When he sneezed again and wiped his nose on his sleeve, some impulse-perhaps deriving from the same unknown source that had led me into the church in the first place-had me on my feet and walking over to where he was sitting. 

‘Here,’ I said, and pulled a Kleenex from my coat pocket and offered it to him. He hadn’t heard me approach, that was clear, but he seemed startled as much by the gesture as my sudden presence. He didn’t make eye contact with me or say anything, but he did take the tissue and wipe his runny nose.

Up close, he didn’t look very good at all. His clothes were wrinkled like he’d been sleeping in them, and his hair was lank and too long and obviously hadn’t been washed in some days. All he had with him in the pew was an old black Jansport backpack- you know, the kind students carry- and it was pretty dilapidated. 

I asked him if he was all right- stupid question as he obviously wasn’t, but what else was I going to say- and he told me to fuck off in no uncertain terms. But I couldn’t, Chris, I simply couldn’t. There was something about him: something so weary and defeated that I could not in good conscience have walked away, even if he didn’t want me there. 

Instead I sat down next to him, careful to keep some distance between us. He flinched a little, but didn’t move away. He just sat with his forearms on his thighs, fingers nervously shredding the tissue while he stared down at the shadows around his feet. And I waited. Why or for what I had no idea, but eventually he grew curious enough to turn his head and look at me, and I got my first glimpse of his face. Chris, someone had beaten the shit out of him. His face was covered in bruises, recent ones, and there was a cut over his right eye held together with a single butterfly band-aid, a cut that clearly could have used stitches. 

The expression on _my_ face must have reflected my shock at his appearance, and he quickly averted his head. I asked him if he needed medical attention or if there was anything I could do for him. All that got me was another ‘fuck off’. Then he added that if I was a fucking priest or social worker, he wouldn’t go to a fucking homeless shelter and I should just leave him the fuck alone and mind my own fucking business. 

But the truth is, despite his hostility, he didn’t sound like he really meant it. He sounded utterly exhausted, like a fighter on the ropes after twelve rounds with the heavyweight champion, throwing punches with nothing but desperation behind them.

I said I wasn’t a priest or a social worker, just someone, like him, looking for a quiet place to sit out of the cold. He gave a little laugh at that, but it was about as far from amused as a laugh can be. Then he shivered and sneezed and blew his nose, and I remembered the coffee and offered to get it for him, said I wasn’t going to drink it anyway- which was the truth. I could practically see the war being waged inside him. He obviously wanted it, but wasn’t sure whether he should say ‘yes’ or not. I decided not to wait for him to make up his mind- you know what a draughty barn the church is and how difficult it is to heat- you could practically see your breath- but went and got the coffee for him anyway. 

‘Look, just take it,’ I told him. ‘It’s going to go to waste otherwise.’ 

After a moment’s hesitation, he did, and the haste with which he gulped down the first few mouthfuls was almost painful to watch. Then he looked at me, seeming embarrassed at revealing his desperation, and muttered, ‘Sorry. I should have thanked you first.’ 

That’s when I said, because, as I told you already, looking into his eyes felt like looking into a mirror, that if he needed a place to stay for the night, he could come home with me. He didn’t reply at once, only studied me for a while over the rim of the styrofoam cup, and I had no idea what was going through his mind. Then he shrugged again and said sure, why the fuck not, that he’d be kicked out of the church sooner or later anyway. 

‘My name’s Sean Astin,’ I said, and held out my hand. He stared at it with the strangest expression on his face before taking it in his and briefly shaking it. I hadn’t noticed until then that the beds of his nails were ragged and bloody, as if he’d been chewing-no _tearing_ -at the cuticles, the way he had at the Kleenex. 

‘I’m Elijah.’ He didn’t offer a last name, and I didn’t ask him. To be honest, Chris, I still don’t know what it is.

‘Finish your coffee first,’ I advised him. ‘It’s cold out and there’s no rush.’

‘I better make one thing clear first,’ he said abruptly. ‘None of that bareback shit, understand?’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘but I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ It was like he was speaking a different language all of a sudden.

‘Condoms, man. I won’t let you fuck me without a condom. And I’d like to take a shower first. I… haven’t had one in a while.’ 

His cheeks were burning beneath the bruises, but so were mine, though I’m sure for entirely different reasons. It hadn’t occurred to me, well, obviously why _would_ it have, that he’d interpret my offer that way. 

While I struggled with shock and embarrassment at my naiveté, he kept talking. ‘I never expected to be hit on in a fucking church of all places.’ He shrugged again and drank some more coffee, but he wasn’t as nonchalant as he was pretending to be. ‘You come trolling here a lot? Seems kinda chancy to me.’

‘Perhaps I’m the one who should make something clear now, Elijah,’ I said quietly. ‘I was married in this church thirteen years ago this past June. Fourteen months ago my wife’s funeral mass was held here. I have three daughters at home and one spare guest room that you are welcome to use for a few days if you don’t have anywhere else to go. I have only two requests. The first is that you lose the language around my girls. The second is that you get it out of your head that I expect anything in return. Understand?’

Chris, I thought he was going to curl up and die. He whispered that he was so fucking sorry, and I could tell he thought that he’d blown what was probably his last hope for somewhere to stay that night. For answer I picked up his backpack. It was pitifully light. I asked him, already sensing what his reply would be, if he had any other belongings, and he shook his head. 

‘Come on, Elijah,’ I said. ‘Let’s go. Bring the coffee with you.’

‘You’re sure?’ He looked stunned. ‘But how do you know you can trust me?’

It was my turn to shrug. ‘I don’t. But I’m willing to take a gamble. Besides,’ and my eyes strayed to the front of the church, and Chris, I swear that for one moment I could see you standing there, smiling at me, ‘I think it’s what my wife would have wanted me to do.’

He had no good argument for that. So we left the church together and I drove him home. It was snowing harder, and the world looked dazzlingly clean and bright. 

That’s how I met Elijah, Chris, and so far the gamble seems to be paying off. In fa-

*  
*  
*  
*

I’m back. I apologize for leaving so abruptly, but I heard a noise, and I was afraid that it was Allie and Lizzy sneaking down to peak at what Santa had left for them under the tree and to check if he ate the cookies and drank the milk. 

But it was Elijah. I’d thought he was asleep already; he’s been sleeping a lot- the sleep of total exhaustion. He was standing by the fireplace and staring at his stocking. I swear he hardly looked older than Allie, wearing the pajamas I loaned him- the red plaid ones- you remember them. They’re miles too big for him, which will make you laugh, Chris, because you know I’m not a big guy. Well, he makes me look like Shaquille O’Neal.

He’d noticed that his stocking was a lot fuller than it had been, and I confessed that Santa had added a few more things to what the girls had put in it. For a moment, he seemed actually on the verge of tears, but I get the impression he doesn’t cry easily- unlike me- and he pulled himself together and asked me why I was being so nice to him. I joked that when he saw what was in the stocking, it would be a huge letdown, but he didn’t laugh. I wonder if he even knows how?

He said he hoped he hadn’t wakened me, and Chris, the oddest thing happened then. I told him the truth: that I hadn’t been asleep, but writing a letter to you. I don’t know why I told him. Other than my therapist, he’s the only one I _have_ told. Maybe it’s because he’s a stranger and won’t be here long. Maybe it’s his eyes. I should explain that Elijah has rather extraordinary eyes, and a way of looking at you that seems to invite confidences. A very strange quality when he reveals nothing of himself. Or perhaps that’s the key: telling him a secret is like dropping a rock into a very, very deep pool. 

I was sure he would think I’m nuts, writing letters to someone who can never respond, but he asked me, very seriously, if I’d told you about him. When I said yes, he wanted me to apologize to you for what happened in the church- what he’d implied about my reasons for being there. Maybe that was just his roundabout way of apologizing to _me_ , but it gave me an opening I’d been looking for. 

‘Would you really have done it?’ I asked him.

He reached out and touched the glittery, uneven ‘E’ on his stocking. Specks of silver drifted to the hearthrug like tiny snowflakes. ‘Yeah,’ he admitted. ‘I would have.’

‘You were that desperate.’ I can’t wrap my mind around it, Chris, the fact that Elijah had been willing to sleep with a stranger just to have a shower and someplace to spend the night. But it makes me all the more determined to help him stand on his own two feet. No one should be that desperate.

‘I couldn’t have gone with just anyone,’ he added. ‘But I wouldn’t have minded it with you.’

‘How could you possibly know that?’ I demanded.

He looked at me then and said simply, 'You have very kind eyes, Sean.’

I couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t have sounded as meaningless as Father Michael’s platitudes. Instead I suggested that we get a couple of beers and see what was on TV. _Miracle on 34th Street_ had just started, and we watched that for a while without talking until I noticed Elijah’s chin starting to droop toward his chest and he nearly spilled his beer. 

I turned off the TV and told him to go get some sleep. ‘You’ll need it. The girls will be up in a few hours, and you’ll be thinking all those packages of batteries under the tree are meant for my three Energizer Bunnies,’ I joked.

That got a smile out of Elijah at last. He looked like an entirely different person, Chris. Maybe the person he’s meant to be. I hope so. Before he went to bed, Elijah thanked me again, and I told him that I was going to have to institute a ‘no thanking rule’ if he didn’t stop it. He was still smiling as he climbed the stairs. 

I made one last tour of the house, checking that everything was locked up tight, and as I walked through the quiet rooms, I realized how selfish I’ve been, how absorbed in my own self-pity and grief. Perhaps meeting Elijah is meant to be a wake-up call for me- perhaps in a strange way he’s my Clarence. I have three beautiful, healthy children, a job, food and shelter, and family. Elijah appears to have none of these things. I can’t promise I won’t cry again, or feel despair, but it is past time that I start remembering the blessings I still do have. 

But it’s growing late, and I’d better bring this letter to a close and try to snatch a few hours’ sleep. Elijah isn’t the only one who will need all his energy to keep up with the girls. And Chris, I have a feeling my dreams tonight might be happy ones for a change.

I see it’s after midnight now, so I can wish you a Merry Christmas, my dearest. I’ll write again tomorrow night. 

I miss you.

Love, 

Sean


	2. Letter 2: New Year's Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sean goes to a New Year's Eve party.

January 1st

My darling Chris,

I’d intended writing to you just after midnight to wish you a happy New Year. But you’ll be surprised to learn that I was at a party, and by the time I got home, I was in no shape at all to write a single coherent sentence. Be glad you were spared whatever maudlin sentiments would likely have come out of my pen had I attempted it! God, it’s a long time since I’ve been this hung-over. I feel like total shit, and deservedly so. You know I was never much of a drinker.

My plan to spend a quiet New Year’s Eve at home was foiled by Ed Shoemaker. Yesterday morning I ran into him at the supermarket, and he cornered me by the deli counter and asked me if I was coming to his New Year’s Eve open house. Much as I would have liked to say no, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Having made a vow at Christmas to stop indulging in self-pity and become more involved in _life_ again, I thought it might be a good first step, and Ed and Louise are among the few who apparently haven’t completely given up on me. 

He seemed genuinely delighted when I said I would come, and I was lulled into a false sense of security that everything would be fine. I was determined to arrive late, stay a short time- just long enough to show everyone that I really _do_ still exist outside the faculty lounge- and then take my leave. 

That left me with the dilemma of who was going to watch the girls while I was out. I’ve relied on your parents so many times over the past year, Chris, and I knew that they already had plans. They would have canceled them immediately had I asked, but that seemed grossly unfair to them; they deserve to have their own lives, too.

I decided instead to ask Elijah. Once he’s started his new job, he’ll be away most evenings, so it didn’t seem like too much of an imposition. I’d hate for him to think that the only reason I offered to let him stay on is so I’ll have a live-in babysitter for the girls at my beck and call. 

He didn’t hear my repeated knocks on his bedroom door, and when I gave up and stuck my head in the room, he was stretched out on the bed with his headphones on. He was listening to music again, as I expected. I’ve come to the conclusion that his CD player must be his most cherished possession, Chris. I suspect that’s about all his backpack contained when I met him: that Discman and some CDs. 

Elijah was lying as still as if he’d be breaking some rule by so much as creasing the bedcovers. He keeps the guestroom painfully neat, everything carefully put away so that it looks as if no one actually _lives_ in it. I half expect to see his backpack ready by the door, and I can’t tell you how that saddens me; I want Elijah to feel at home here, and not continually worry that he’s in danger of being kicked out. Or perhaps this is yet another clue to what his previous life has been like. Except at certain moments with the girls, when he lets down his guard, he carries himself with the wary tension of a wild animal. I wish I knew what it meant.

He got up at once when he saw me, and tore off the headphones with an embarrassed expression. ‘It’s all right,’ I assured him- I think he really expected me to be angry with him. He was shifting his weight from foot to foot, shoulders braced, and I was reminded again of that weary fighter I’d seen in the church, only this time he wasn’t throwing a punch, but waiting for one to land. ‘I just wanted to ask you if you’d be willing to mind the girls for a few hours tonight. One of my colleagues and his wife are having a New Year’s Eve open house, and I sort of got roped into going.’ Elijah stared at me in astonishment. ‘You’d trust me to do that?’ he said, sounding flabbergasted, and I replied that I wouldn’t have asked him if I didn’t. 

There was another of those odd moments, like the one on Christmas Eve, when Elijah seemed on the verge of tears—I have a feeling that gestures of kindness or shows of trust are the only things that _can_ do that to him, not the things that would make most people cry, like pain or grief. ‘If you’re really sure,’ he said, but he was obviously so uncertain that I told him I was indeed really, really, really, _really_ sure. That won a smile from him. You know, every smile from Elijah seems like a small victory, Chris. Perhaps one of these days, I may even hear Elijah laugh. 

I have to keep reminding myself that it’s early days yet and that his past is not my business unless he chooses to make it so. But patience isn’t one of my great virtues, and there is a vulnerability beneath Elijah’s brittle surface toughness that makes me wish I could wave a magic wand and put everything right for him—as I cannot do for myself. 

You may be thinking that in fact Elijah’s past _is_ my business, particularly when I’m entrusting him with our children. But I already know what is most important: Elijah is a responsible young man. Still not a single ‘fuck’ or other questionable word has escaped his mouth within their earshot, and he’s been smoking outside where they can’t see him. I’ve scrutinized his interactions with them, and he has never put a foot wrong. The girls have taken to him in a way that they rarely have taken to anyone outside the immediate family. In fact—and oh Chris, our daughter _is_ growing up—I think Elijah is Allie’s very first crush. 

She told me yesterday with smug satisfaction that she had been right to banish me to the history section at Border’s while she went with Elijah to buy some new clothes at Penney’s and get his hair cut. The shirts she helped him pick out are all some shade of blue—which is, she informed me (as if I, a mere man, couldn’t possibly have noticed) the color of Elijah’s eyes. Now that his bruises are less noticeable and he has a decent haircut, what I suspected turns out to be true: Elijah is a very good-looking young man. It’s no wonder Allie is so taken with him. But I’m not worried that he will break her heart—he’s so very careful with her.

Of course, there may be hell to pay with our parents when they find out—about the babysitting, I mean, although I suppose the girls’ attachment to Elijah could also become a bone of contention, until they realize that simply because Elijah is a mystery, doesn’t necessarily mean he’s also a danger. Thank god for Mack. His willingness to hire Elijah to work at the restaurant has eased some of their worry at least. You know how highly they respect his judgment—far more than mine. ‘You’re too impulsive, Sean.’ I had to listen to Mom tell me that for the umpteenth time since Christmas when I called her and Dad today to wish them a Happy New Year. 

Well, there I go again--heading off on a tangent, instead of telling you about my New Year’s Eve. I sometimes wonder how you put up with all my bad habits over the years, Chris, and my letters seem to get longer and longer!

I was worried about how the girls would react to my news, especially Allie, as she was so excited about staying up to watch the ball in Time’s Square drop and count down the seconds to the New Year. My worry was almost strong enough to make me call Ed and beg off, come up with some specious excuse such as one of the girls not feeling well. But I can’t be a hermit for the rest of my life, after all, and to my relief they were all surprisingly okay with the idea. I reassured Allie that she could still stay up until midnight as long as she promised to go right to bed when it was over and not give Elijah a hard time. Which earned me an eye roll and an ‘Oh daddy!’ 

Since Christmas I seem to be making a lot of new discoveries, but this one knocked me for a loop—the girls no longer need me to stay home and be ‘daddy’ all the time. I don’t think they’re ready for me to be in a relationship yet—god knows, _I’m_ not ready for me to be in a relationship yet—but maybe I’ve been clinging to them too closely. Maybe I’ve been using them as an excuse to avoid going anywhere. 

Maybe? There’s no ‘maybe’ about it. I _have_ been using them as an excuse—was tempted to do so again to avoid the Shoemaker’s party. What was the point of those months of therapy if I can’t admit that to myself? 

Allie took charge of my preparations like Wellington directing his battalions at Waterloo. She picked out my clothes, my aftershave and even fixed my hair, which she claims looks totally boring. She has your fashion sense and eye for color, Chris, there’s no doubt about it, and she is nothing if not decided.

When she was finally satisfied that I was ready for inspection, she took me by the hand and paraded me in front of poor Elijah, asking him if I didn’t look handsome. I just shook my head and waited to hear him laugh at last, but to my surprise, he didn’t, just studied me for a few seconds, and then quietly agreed with her. I know he only agreed to please Allie, but still, it was nice to have a vote of confidence, even a spurious one. I’ve let myself go to hell over the past year, and one of my New Year’s resolutions is to start jogging again and get back into shape. You’d be ashamed if you could see how sedentary I’ve grown. 

I had quite the send-off, Chris. You’d have thought I was leaving on a round-the-world cruise if you’d seen the hugs and kisses we exchanged. But it was a momentous event for all four of us: daddy taking his first baby steps back into real life. Sometimes I wonder exactly _who_ is the parent in our relationship! But given my behavior over the following hours, maybe I’m right to wonder.

At the end of the front walk, I stopped. Somehow I felt compelled to turn around—or maybe I was just seeking an excuse to delay leaving. Elijah was shepherding the girls inside, and there was something so touching about the sight of him with his arm around Lizzy’s thin shoulders and Bella clinging to one leg. As if he felt my gaze, Elijah looked back, and as usual his expression gave me no clue to what he was thinking, until he nodded: a short decisive nod as if to say ‘don’t worry, I won’t let anything happen to them, you can trust me’. But I wasn’t worried. I gave him a reassuring wave, and turned away again. 

I tried not to think too much on the walk there, but simply enjoy the quiet and the brilliance of the stars and the Christmas decorations still blinking and glowing on almost every lawn. The truth is, if I had really thought about what I was doing, I’d have talked myself out of it: argued and justified and ended up running home again. Hell, it took all my nerve simply to climb the Shoemaker’s front steps. I’ve been absent from the social scene for too long, Chris, and the space at my right side felt cold and empty.

The party was well underway by the time I arrived, and it was the usual raucous madhouse, although I swear the DJ Ed and Louise hired this time was even louder than in past years—I could start hearing the music at least two blocks away. My plan to sneak in unnoticed was foiled by Louise, who must have been lying in wait for me. She was on me like white on rice the second I set foot in the foyer. ‘Oh Sean,’ she trilled, ‘it’s so _good_ to see you in circulation again. Now come with me, I’ve got a few people to introduce you to.’ And by ‘people’ she meant, of course, single women. Christ, Chris, it felt like I had a scarlet stamp on my forehead that said ‘AVAILABLE’, or as if I was part of some ghastly TV dating show. ‘Valerie, meet Sean, he’s a 33-year old widower with three adorable daughters and teaches high school history’ ‘Sean, this is Valerie, she’s a lawyer, newly divorced and sharing custody of her darling 5-year old son.’ 

I know Louise meant well, and I remember that you always used to say she fancied herself something of a Dolly Levy—but I didn’t go there looking for a date—just to prove that somewhere inside was the old Sean, the one who loved parties and meeting people and yes, you don’t have remind me, talking their ears off.

As the evening went on, I’m not sure which was harder: making strained and awkward party conversation with women in whom I had no interest, but some of whom seemed far too interested in _me_ , or watching all the married couples around me dancing and laughing and sharing those intimate looks and gestures that I had once shared with you: part of a world from which I was now excluded.

Extricating myself from the party seemed impossible; there was no way I could gracefully bow out before midnight, and I _was_ trying to prove a point, even if I was failing miserably. So I did the next best thing—or should I say next stupidest thing. I had a few drinks, to make it all more bearable. After the second of Ed’s lethal gin and tonics, I was talking too loudly and too much--even for me. After the fourth, everything started to become kind of hazy. I hope I didn’t make too big a fool of myself. My only comfort is that making a fool of oneself at Ed and Louise’s open house is a long-standing tradition; I wasn’t the only fool there by a long shot. I do remember dancing with someone, several someones as a matter of fact, and that the elastic of that goddamn stupid party hat I put on was digging into my chin until I finally pulled it off and tossed it into the crowd. But the rest of it is a blur--except for one thing. 

And now comes the awful confession: as they counted down the last few seconds to the New Year, I grabbed whatever woman I was dancing with and I’m pretty sure--no, I _know_ that I kissed her, and not just a little peck on the cheek. God, I don’t even know what her name was, Chris--I only know I wanted her to be you. But I realized my mistake almost at once; her shape, her scent-- something cloying that wasn’t at all like anything you would have worn--were wrong, alien. I had just enough presence of mind to mumble something about needing to use the bathroom, find my coat and get the hell out of there before I did anything else I’d later regret. 

I was far too blitzed for the cold air to revive me. Truthfully, I have no idea how I made it home, but I must’ve tripped and fallen a couple of times. My knees are bruised and the heel of my left hand is scraped. Fitting punishment for my stupidity, and I’m damn lucky that I wasn’t picked up by the police. I must have been quite a sight, stumbling and weaving through our neighborhood. Oh Chris, I’m so sorry. What would you have thought if you could have seen your husband then? 

But in the end I did make it home safe and more or less sound, and the next thing I remember for sure is Elijah’s voice, sharp with concern, asking me if I was okay. It sounded like he was speaking from the opposite end of a long tunnel, and I could only vaguely make out that I was in the front hall, and the ticking of the grandfather clock reminded me of the New Year’s countdown and the woman I’d kissed, and I felt sick and ashamed. 

I mumbled something about not wanting Allie to see me that way, and Elijah assured me that she was in bed, asleep. ‘Jesus, you’re hurt,’ he said. ‘Come and sit down.’ He put his arm around me and helped me to the family room sofa. I had no idea I was hurt--I was feeling no pain, not physical pain at least, but the drink had lowered all my defenses--and they aren’t particularly strong at the best of times, are they? ‘I’ll be right back, I want to get something to clean that scrape on your hand,’ Elijah said. I don’t think he was gone long; I don’t really know. I was mired in self-pity again, and after all my resolutions to get on with my life after my year of mourning was up, the way everyone has been expecting me to. Maybe I shouldn’t have stopped seeing Dr. Chaudry so soon, but-- ah, but I’m jumping ahead.

Elijah returned and knelt in front of me and without a word began very matter-of-factly cleaning my hand. His touch was very sure; he obviously has experience at taking care of injuries. I don’t like to think why that is. When he was finished, he simply knelt there, still holding my hand, and asked me if I felt any better. ‘Yes,’ I lied, but he was watching me with those eyes--I’ve told you what they’re like, how they seem to invite confidences. ‘ _No_ ,’ I admitted. And I started to cry. 

Funny, any other guy of my acquaintance would have been horrified by my breakdown and at best patted my arm awkwardly and advised me to get a grip. But not Elijah. He leaned forward and put his arms around me without any hesitation at all. Poor Elijah; I went completely to pieces then and everything came spilling out. Not only what happened at the party, but everything: the car accident, the long wait at the hospital, the funeral, the months spent piecing our lives together again, my fears that I’m incapable of successfully being both father and mother to our children. He didn’t say anything, at least not that I recall, just held me, and it’s odd, but for as short a time as I’ve known Elijah, I have a sense that he understands me better than some members of my own family do. Compassionate silence was what I needed then, and a shoulder to cry on--and he gave me both.

I think I must have fallen asleep with him still kneeling there, holding me, though I have a lingering impression of my name being whispered and of--but no, that’s ridiculous and totally impossible. It was only a dream of you, that’s all, a sign, like that ill-advised kiss, that my body’s finally starting to come back to life, too. When I woke up, I was lying on the sofa with a comforter draped over me, and I felt like I’d been run over by a truck. I could hear voices from the kitchen, and the cable box said it was nearly 11:00 a.m. God, I can’t remember the last time I slept that late. My knees hurt like fuck-all and my hand was stinging. 

And yet… here’s the really strange thing, Chris. It was the opposite of how I’d felt when I got home. I was in pain physically, yes, but inside… I was oddly calm, as if something had been released inside me. Maybe spilling my guts to Elijah was the right thing to have done, although it wasn’t fair to him, no matter what he says, and maybe I really, truly _have_ cried my last tears. Time will tell, I suppose, but I haven’t felt this at peace since I lost you. 

I got up and went to the kitchen door. Elijah and the girls were sitting around the breakfast table playing _Chutes and Ladders_. 

‘I wish daddy would wake up,’ Bella was complaining, ‘I want to watch _Sesame Street_.’

‘I’m sure your dad will wake up soon,’ Elijah replied. He’d gotten the girls washed, dressed and fed, and played games with them while their father, the one who should have been taking care of them, was sleeping off a drunk. I swear to god, Chris, if your parents or mine say one more negative word about him…

‘As a matter of fact, he is up,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry, sweetheart. You can have the TV now.’

‘Daddy, you look terrible!’ Lizzy said, staring at me. Allie was staring, too, and something in her expression said that she had an inkling of the truth, that her dad had been plastered. But only an inkling, I pray. 

‘I’m going to take a shower now, Lizzy, and hopefully I won’t look terrible anymore,’ I said ruefully. 

‘Hang on,’ Elijah said, jumping up at once. ‘Let me make you a cup of coffee first.’ He poured the coffee, added milk and a half-teaspoon of sugar and brought it to me. I didn’t realize he’s figured out how I like my coffee. 

The girls had abandoned their game and gone into the family room, and already I could hear the _Sesame Street_ theme song playing and Allie and Lizzy arguing over what they were going to watch next.

‘Thank you,’ I said, taking the coffee and inhaling the aroma gratefully. ‘Elijah, about last night…’ 

He stiffened, and then began picking nervously at the cuticles of his ring finger with his thumb. God, I must have embarrassed him so badly.

‘I apologize for my behavior,’ I said. ‘Dumping all my personal problems on you like that and crying on your shoulder. I was drunk, but that’s no excuse. It was good of you to put up with me.’ Elijah had gone absolutely still while I was talking, and when I was done, he said quietly, ‘I didn’t mind.’ He was even paler than usual, every scrap of color drained away, so that the remains of his bruises stood out with stark clarity. 

‘And I have to thank you for taking care of the girls this morning,’ I added, ‘That was above and beyond the call, and I promise you it won’t ever happen again. I’m very sorry.’

‘Please don’t be sorry. I’d do anything for you,’ he blurted out with more emotion than I’d yet seen from him. ‘Anything. If you only knew what--‘ Then he bit his lip, and looked down, obviously thinking he’d revealed more than he should of his feelings. 

‘Elijah, I won’t ask you any questions,’ I said, ‘but if you ever want to talk, if there’s anything at all you want to tell me, any help I can offer, I’ll always be here.’

‘Thank you,’ he whispered. ‘But I just want to forget. Make a fresh start.’

 _You can never forget._ I could have said it to him, but he’ll have to discover that truth for himself. All I can do is wait, and hope that one day he’ll be ready to share his past with me, as I shared mine with him. 

So, here I sit with an aching head, bruised knees and a sore palm, but strangely at peace. As disastrous as the party was, in the end, I don’t regret going. I’ll be stronger next time--and there will be a next time, I promise. I know what you wish for me, for we talked about it, never dreaming the day would actually come that one of us would have to start over. Baby steps, Chris; I’m taking them. And so is Elijah. I wonder where we’ll both be a year from now?

I miss you.

All my love,

Sean


	3. Letter 3: Valentine's Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sean goes on a date, and Elijah begins to reveal some parts of his past

February 15th

My darling Chris,

It’s been too long since I’ve written to you. I’m sorry, my dearest. But I know you’ll understand when I tell you that first Lizzy then Allie, Bella and I came down with a particularly virulent stomach ‘flu that toppled us like dominoes, one right after the other. We’re all recovered now, and life is more or less back to normal, in large part thanks to Elijah. I grow ever more thankful for the impulse that led me to talk to him in St. Cecelia’s that snowy December day. 

I’m not sure how we would have coped these past two weeks without him. First he helped your mother and me care for the girls, and then he was stuck caring for me again. In fact, I’m not sure he slept at all while I was sick, other than a catnap in the chair by my bed. He missed three days of work on my behalf, something I regret bitterly, knowing how much he wants to repay the money I loaned him. But nothing short of a dynamite blast could have gotten him out of this house until I was better. Believe me, I tried.

He said to me on New Year’s Eve that he’d do anything for me, but I seriously doubt he bargained on such delightful experiences as me throwing up all over his bare feet while he helped me to the bathroom at three in the morning. It didn’t seem to faze him, though; I kept apologizing and he kept repeating how sorry he was that I was sick, and that he wished it had been him instead. It would have been funny under less dire circumstances. Amazingly enough Elijah never _did_ get sick, which, considering how long he was exposed to the bug, seems a minor miracle, but he claims he’s never ill. 

What I suspected from the first is true; Elijah does have experience taking care of children (and I’m afraid that I have to put myself in that category, for at times I behaved more childishly than our girls, and must have tried his patience to the limit). While we were sitting up late one night with Allie, he opened up a little to me about his past for the first time. He was wiping her sweating face with a cool washcloth, and I commented that it looked like he’d done that before. 

I didn’t think he was going to answer me, but eventually he said that Allie reminded him of a girl he’d lived with when he was in foster care, and who had been ill a lot. Without prompting, he went on to tell me that he’d been placed in foster care when he was six, and that he’d been in and out of foster homes until he was sixteen. He didn’t say anything about what happened to him after that, or why he’d ended up in foster care in the first place or what his experiences had been like. But Chris, what I glimpsed in his eyes scared the shit out of me. I can only compare it to descriptions I’ve read of shell-shocked World War I soldiers who had witnessed horrors beyond imagining. I still pray that the day will come when Elijah will trust me with the full story, but a part of me recoils from the very idea. I can make some educated guesses about what has happened to him, but I’ll spare you. It would only break your heart, as it breaks mine.

One positive thing did come out of those miserable days. Your parents’ attitude toward Elijah has suffered a sea change after witnessing first-hand his devotion to the girls—far above and beyond anything he might have felt he owed us out of gratitude. (It would have touched you deeply, Chris, to see how infinitely patient and gentle he was with them.) Beyond that, Elijah never tried to usurp your parents’ place or interfere in any way—especially with your mother, who wouldn’t have appreciated it—but offered an unobtrusive and helpful hand whenever and wherever it was needed. He has a rare tact and grace, and your mother admitted as much to me, when she apologized for giving me such a hard time about allowing him to live here. 

‘Elijah’s a good boy,’ she said. ‘Most young men his age would have run screaming from a house with three sick children.’ You know your mother; this was akin to awarding Elijah the Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval.

But our battle with the ‘flu isn’t the only news I have to share, Chris. Possibly I should have started this letter by telling you about it, but I’m a coward. You see, I’ve kept something from you for the past month, something I didn’t want to talk about until it was all over. Why? Guilt, I suppose, because the consequences of my behavior on New Year’s Eve didn’t end with that drunken kiss. They continued, and I’m starting to wonder if they ever _will_ end, but will pop up like ghosts from a Dickens story to confront me when I least expect it.

The long and the short of it is that I took a woman out to dinner this evening. Yes, and on Valentine’s Day, too.

You probably don’t even recall me mentioning Valerie, the divorced lawyer with a five-year old son to whom Louise introduced me at her party. _I_ barely recalled her myself. But apparently at some point during that evening, I scribbled my phone number on a cocktail napkin and told her to call me. I have no memory of doing so, no idea why I would have done so. But I did. And she called me, a couple of weeks later when she got back from a vacation in Hawaii.

In retrospect, it was probably one of the most painfully funny conversations in the history of the world, worthy of a sit-com: me, wondering who the hell Valerie was and why she was calling me, and desperately trying to hide the fact that I had no clue, and Valerie blithely assuming that I knew all about it. When the light finally dawned, any humor in the situation vanished in a puff of smoke. Valerie so clearly was expecting me to ask her out, and how could I _not_ , Chris? After all, it wasn’t _her_ fault I couldn’t recall giving her my number, and what was I supposed to say? ‘Sorry, Valerie, I didn’t mean it; I was too drunk to know what I was doing’? So I invited her to have dinner with me. God, Chris, I’m so sorry. I feel as if I’ve betrayed you, although I didn’t intend to, please believe me.

We settled on a mutually convenient evening, but as fate would have it, that morning Lizzy woke up feeling unwell. Valerie is a parent; she was very understanding when I explained. I kind of hoped she might let me off the hook entirely, but no such luck. When I was sure we had all recovered completely, I called her to reschedule, and I truly had no idea that ‘How about next Tuesday?’ meant Valentine’s Day. I’d blotted the very thought of that holiday out of my mind, as you can imagine.

Not one of your husband’s shining moments, I’m afraid.

We went to a new Italian restaurant downtown called San Paolo; I thought about taking her to Mack’s, but I was uncomfortable at the idea of Elijah possibly having to wait on us, and I couldn’t take her anywhere that you and I had been together. The food was excellent and the date itself wasn’t the disaster I feared it would be. But I felt as rusty as the Tin Man from _The Wizard of Oz_ after being left out in the pouring rain for weeks. I half-expected to hear my arms and legs squeaking when I walked. Dating is for the young and single, not for widowers with three children. But at least I managed not to make an ass of myself—any more of an ass then I already had that is. Valerie and I discovered some mutual friends and interests that provided fodder for conversation, so there were no awkward silences to make me sweat in a panic, or fill with inane babble. 

I drank only one small glass of wine; I wasn’t about to risk a repetition of the behavior that had gotten me into this predicament in the first place. Although, if I’m to be totally honest, Chris, it would have been a relief to be drunk again, to imagine that Valerie was you, and that I had some right to be at an intimate table for two decorated with candles and flowers, and sitting among the Valentine’s lovers holding hands and exchanging kisses. Because sober, I felt like the fraud I was.

We didn’t linger long over our coffee and dessert, and it was just after nine o’clock when I dropped Valerie back at her townhouse. I walked her to the front door, and there was an awkward moment when she invited me in for a nightcap. I hadn’t expected that, or her obvious disappointment when I begged off; a disappointment that would have been flattering, had I not been so ashamed of the whole sorry mess. 

I said good night, and went to kiss her on the cheek, more out of apology than anything else, but she turned her face so that my kiss landed on her lips. She didn’t make it easy for me to extricate myself, but this wasn’t New Year’s Eve. I had control over myself, and I refused to allow your image to intrude. Oddly enough though, just for an instant—well, but that’s neither here nor there. 

‘Are you sure you won’t change your mind?’ she asked me when we’d separated, and I told her, as gently as I could, that although I’d had a very enjoyable time, I had to get home--work the next morning, the kids, the usual excuses.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said, but she replied, regretfully, that she understood. Somehow her saying that made me feel even more like a shit than I already did; that, and the fact that, as I drove away, I could see her in the rearview mirror, staring after me. I suppose I could have used that time-honored lie so beloved of men at the end of a date, ‘I’ll call you’, but I couldn’t be such a hypocrite. I have no intention of calling Valerie or of seeing her again, Chris. It wasn’t her fault—I accept the blame for misleading her. But I’m not ready to be in a new relationship, and as I discovered when I got home, our daughters aren’t ready for me to be in one, either. And that trumps all.

Your poor parents looked ragged around the edges, and desperately glad that I was back. The girls had been a handful, quarrelling and acting out in ways completely unlike them. It had taken your parents far longer than usual to get them settled in bed, and your mother confessed that she’d nearly broken down and called Elijah, begged him to come home and work his magic with them. 

‘Sean,’ your dad said as I helped him into his coat, ‘you know that Evelyn and I don’t like to interfere in your personal life. But don’t you think it’s a little soon for you to start seeing someone? For the girls, I mean.’

God, Chris. For your dad to say something like that, I had to have fucked up badly. All I could do was assure him that it had been a one-time situation. Then he put his hand on my shoulder and added, ‘Chris would be the first one to want you to find happiness again, and so do we. Never doubt it.’

Have I told you lately how much I love your folks? 

After they left, I went to check on the girls. Lizzy and Bella were sound asleep, and they didn’t stir when I kissed them goodnight. But Allie was still awake. She was sitting up in bed reading, with a little Valentine’s bear that Elijah gave her on her lap. (He gave one to each of the girls this morning at breakfast, and when I asked him where mine was, he actually thought I was serious. I couldn’t help but laugh at the dismayed expression on his face, until he figured out I was joking, and then he blushed; he’s so unused to being teased.)

When Allie saw me her beautiful eyes—your eyes— filled up with tears, and my heart cracked a little. You know that she’s been my prop and mainstay since you died. She’s so brave, so strong and resilient, our oldest daughter. But she is after all only eleven, and sometimes I forget. I should have understood how frightening the idea of a new woman in my life would be to her and Lizzy and Bella. A far different cry from daddy venturing out to a party _alone_ ; this had been no baby step, but a giant one. I’d been too mired in my own worries to pay enough attention to theirs.

‘I don’t want a new mom,’ Allie said after she’d cried herself out in my arms. ‘Please don’t take that lady out again.’

Oh Chris. It was easy enough to promise not to take Valerie out again. But… I couldn’t truthfully say to Allie that she will never have a stepmother. Because I don’t want to be alone forever; I’m not good at being alone, Chris. I don’t expect that instantaneous recognition, that sense of rightness I experienced when I met you, with anyone else. After all, how many men meet a woman and ask her five minutes later if she’ll marry him? How many women are crazy enough to say ‘yes’? What are the odds of that happening twice? If I ever fall in love again, it will probably sneak up on me, and catch me completely by surprise. 

What your dad said is true: you _would_ want me to find happiness again, and I hope that I will some day. There are so many things I miss--simple things, like lying in bed with you after the girls are asleep and quietly talking over the day. And yeah, I miss the sex. I could find it easily enough if I wanted to; even in a small town like this there are places you can go. But perhaps because we married so young, Chris, and my experience before you was so slight, sex has always involved a deeper connection. It’s not so much the physical act itself, but the intimacy and the bond it creates. A quick emotionless coupling would only leave me lonelier than ever, I suspect.

I told Allie that maybe she’d feel differently after more time had passed, and that having a stepmother, the right stepmother, one whom she and her sisters picked specially for me, might not be so bad. She held the little bear to her chest and said stubbornly, ‘But we have Elijah now. We don’t need anyone else.’

‘Sweetheart, I explained to you when Elijah came to stay that he’s only here temporarily,’ I said, and she replied, ‘He’d stay if you asked him to, Daddy.’ I’m afraid I copped out then, and said, ‘Well, we’ll see, honey.’ Truthfully, the thought of Elijah leaving _is_ depressing. He's become a part of our family now.

I stayed with Allie and read to her until she finally fell asleep. Then I went downstairs and turned on Letterman, and waited for Elijah to get home from the restaurant, as I usually do. 

He looked surprised and relieved to see me when he came in. No doubt the relief was to discover me sober and not on the verge of self-destructing again. As for the surprise, the first thing he said to me was, ‘I didn’t expect you to be home, Sean.’

‘It was only a dinner date, Elijah,’ I pointed out. ‘I got home a couple of hours ago.’

‘Oh.’ He looked puzzled. ‘I thought maybe you’d spend the night with her.’

‘On a first date?’ It was my turn to be surprised. 

‘Don’t people do that?’ he asked, and then seemed to realize what a peculiar question it was. ‘I’ve never really dated anyone,’ he added awkwardly. ‘Not like that.’

_‘I never expected to be hit on in a fucking church of all places.’_ Elijah’s words came back to me, Chris, and what he’d been willing to do for the sake of a place to stay for the night. Is that the only sort of ‘date’ that Elijah has experienced? God. God.

‘I can’t answer for anyone else,’ I said, ‘but that’s definitely not my speed. Sex isn’t a casual matter to me, Elijah. I couldn't imagine having sex with someone I'd only just met. But even if I was tempted, I would never leave the girls overnight or ask their grandparents to babysit them for a reason like that.”

‘I see.’ I thought I was getting pretty good at reading Elijah’s face, but I couldn’t figure out his expression then for the life of me. ‘I’m sorry if I offended you, Sean,' he apologized. 'I didn’t understand…’ He seemed agitated, his reaction more extreme than the circumstances warranted, but then how can I be the judge?

I told him not to worry about it, that of course he hadn’t offended me. I put my arm around his shoulders, and gave him a reassuring hug. 'Now, come on into the kitchen,' I said, 'and I’ll make us some coffee. You can tell me how things went at the restaurant this evening. Mack always says that people tip especially well on Valentine’s Day. Was that the case tonight?’ 

It was definitely the right thing to ask. I've never seen him so happy as when he told me that it _had_ been a very good night, and that he’d earned more tips than any of the other waiters. He sounded so proud of himself, and with good reason. Mack says that he’s never had such a conscientious or hard-working employee. Elijah’s self-confidence is building day by day, and the change in him is heart-warming to witness. 

We sat talking over our coffee until nearly 1 a.m. Just before we parted to go to bed, Elijah said hesitantly, ‘Do you mind if I ask you a question, Sean?’ 

‘Of course I don’t,’ I said. ‘What is it?’

‘Are you going to be seeing that woman--Valerie, I mean--again?’

I said that no, I wouldn’t be seeing her again. Elijah only nodded, but he looked relieved; I’m willing to bet that he knew how the girls felt about it, especially Allie. But I’ll try not to beat myself up about it anymore, Chris. Being a single parent means flying blind a lot of the time. I can only keep fumbling my way, and doing my best.

Well, let me end this letter on a happier note than it began. I received three very special Valentine’s Day cards today, Chris. I’m looking at them on my desk right now, and I wish you could see how beautiful they are--but there, maybe you can. I like to believe that you can. 

You’ll be pleased to know that I also got a few cards at work--it’s flattering to discover that Mr. Astin can still inspire a few of his students to send Valentines, especially when he sometimes feels as if he’s old enough to have lived through the history he teaches. Someone even left a Valentine in the mailbox here. It’s been a few years since that has happened. I wonder which of my students was so enterprising.

The girls made cards for Elijah, too. He looked as if he couldn’t believe his eyes when they gave them to him--the same way he’d looked at his stocking on Christmas Eve. He said that no one had ever given him a Valentine’s card before, and the girls were appalled. Ally said, ‘You mean you never got one at school?’ and Elijah explained that he’d never stayed in one school long enough, and that he'd dropped out of high school in 10th grade.

Those aren’t words any teacher worth his salt likes to hear. Elijah should go for a GED, and I'm going to encourage him to do so. He’s so bright, Chris, and such a quick learner--just ask Mack. I can’t believe he wouldn’t be able to pass the test easily, if I help him prepare for it. But that’s for another letter--this one, as usual, has gone on too long, and I need to get at least a couple of hours' sleep. So I will say goodnight now, and promise to write to you much sooner next time.

Happy Valentine’s Day, my dearest.

I miss you.

Love, 

Sean

*

*

*

Chris, there is an omission in this letter that I need to rectify, because I worry that by leaving it out, I am giving it more importance than it deserves. I'm sure it was only one of those odd and inexplicable tricks the mind can play.

But when Valerie and I kissed, for a moment, just one brief moment, I saw Elijah’s face.


	4. Letter 4: Sean's Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On Sean's birthday, the greatest gift he receives is love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song quote at the end comes from the song 'In a Big Country' by Big Country.

February 26th

My darling Chris,

I had a happy birthday.

There. I’ve said it. 

It was happiness of a different kind from once upon a time, but so much love and caring were given to me today, by your family and mine, that I can say, with truth, that it was a happy day.

Since it was Saturday, I was able to sleep in a little, and wonder of wonders the girls actually let me (of course, Elijah probably had something to do with that). It was after eight when the door to my room finally opened to a chorus of ‘Happy Birthday, Daddy!’ Bella was holding a fistful of birthday balloons, Lizzy an armload of presents and Allie carried the tray with my breakfast. 

There was a vase of flowers on the tray, and they’d even used the good china and silverware. Allie piled the pillows up behind me and spread a napkin on my lap and she wouldn’t let me do anything, except for the eating. I felt very pampered and spoiled, let me tell you. 

I sometimes wonder if there is a universal law that parents being treated to breakfast in bed by their children must be served scrambled eggs, toast, orange juice and coffee. But I’m not complaining. The eggs had Gruyère cheese in them, the toast wasn’t at all burned, the orange juice was freshly squeezed, and the coffee prepared exactly as I like it. Elijah’s cooking is light years better than mine—the breakfasts-in-bed I helped the girls make for _you_ were never so good, although you always pretended to love them. Yes, of course I knew.

The girls managed to contain themselves long enough for me actually to finish my food. But as soon the last bite of egg and toast disappeared, they were clamoring for me to open my birthday cards and presents, which I did with them packed in around me like a litter of drowsy, sweet-smelling puppies. I can’t help but remember other such times when you were still here, and how the future stretched out ahead of us, shining bright with endless promise…

Ah, but this is supposed to be a happier letter than usual. I’m sorry. I’ll try to do better.

I opened Allie’s present first, because she was practically beside herself with excitement. ‘I picked it out myself,’ she said, bouncing impatiently on the mattress, ‘when grams took me to the mall.’ I had to smile at the anticipation on her face; the way she bit her lip as I undid the wrapping paper reminded me so much of you. It was a sweater, exactly the sort of sweater that you’d have picked out for me—soft and a little oversized (I’m happy to say that it was more oversized than it would have been a few weeks ago; I’m slowly but surely getting back into shape). The colors look like plain old green and yellow to me, but Allie informs me that they are ‘moss and goldenrod’. I stand corrected. She made me try the sweater on, the tags and all, and then gave a happy sigh. ‘It’s perfect for you, daddy,’ she said. 

Lizzy made me a macramé friendship bracelet—like the ones I’ve noticed a lot of the kids at school wearing. The history teacher in me was delighted to discover that there’s an old tradition associated with them. I’m supposed to make a wish on the bracelet, and then wear it 24/7, even in the shower, until the last thread wears thin and snaps. When the bracelet finally falls off my wrist, the wish will be granted. It was Elijah, actually, who told me about the curious custom, and when I asked him, he said that he’d heard it from a Brazilian street vendor in New York City. 

Custom or not, I won’t be wishing on the bracelet, Chris. For one thing, Lizzy made this with her own small hands (well, she did have help from Elijah) and it’s far too precious to me to risk losing. And for another—wishes are dangerous things, aren’t they? 

I confess that more interesting to me than what Elijah learned from that street vendor is the discovery that he’s lived in New York. I’d guessed perhaps Chicago or Detroit—a large city certainly seemed likely: he has an indeterminate accent that I can never successfully place. I wonder how on earth he ended up so many miles from home—if New York _was_ his home and not simply a way station on the journey that led him here.

But I’m going off on a tangent and forgetting our Isabella. Her gift to me was a crayon drawing of a horse. Well, Bella claims it’s a horse. I’m looking at it right now, Chris, and I’ve never seen a horse quite like it. For one thing, its eyes are a most un-equine blue. Elijah’s influence, I’m certain; he never tires of giving her horseback rides, galloping her through the house while she squeals with delight. (You know, I’m becoming more and more convinced that she’s destined to be either a veterinarian or a jockey; her horse obsession grows stronger every day.)

My last gift was from all the girls: a large birthday tin filled with homemade chocolate chip cookies, and I couldn’t ignore the hopeful expressions on their faces when they encouraged me to open it right away and try one. I know when a present is really only peripherally for me.

We huddled together under the covers eating cookies and getting crumbs everywhere. (I’ll probably be fishing them out of the bed for _days_.) This quiet time together, just the four of us, was healing for them. I think Allie has finally accepted that Valerie is completely out of the picture and that I have no intention of bringing her or any other woman home to fill your place. What she and her sisters don’t yet understand, of course, is that even if I do remarry someday, no one ever could fill your place. A new mother would have her own place, but never take yours.

It was impossible not to think of you and talk of you, and share what Lizzy always calls her ‘Mommy memories’. Please don’t worry that I will ever stop trying to keep your memory alive for them, no matter what the future holds, especially for Bella, as she was so young when you died. I’m convinced that it’s through sharing our stories and memories that you most truly live on, not through photos or videos, though those are precious beyond belief.

Somehow this time we managed to talk about you without crying—another bittersweet sign that we are moving slowly along the path to recovery. Do I want to go back to the painful months when it was impossible even to say your name without tears? No, of course I don’t. But _not_ crying somehow makes the fact that you are really gone all the more apparent. 

But there, I’m slipping back into self-pity again, and after such a day, too. 

After a time, I started thinking about Elijah, shut out of our little party after all he’d done, and I imagined him eating alone in the kitchen or watching TV in the family room by himself, or even worse, lying on his bed listening to his CD player. The picture that painted was of an isolation that was too sad to endure, so I told Allie to go and fetch him. It felt wrong for him to be excluded.

Elijah returned with her, but he seemed diffident and unsure of his welcome—the way he’d been at Christmas when he first arrived here. He hung back in the doorway until I jokingly reassured him that it was safe to come in, and he didn’t have to worry that I was about to throw up all over his feet again. That made him smile, and he followed Allie into the room.

I’m sure Elijah would have headed straight for the dressing table chair, where he spent so many hours while I had the ‘flu, if Allie hadn’t intervened. She tugged him over to the bed, and he ended up sitting cross-legged on the end with Bella in his lap—he was the only one of us not still in pajamas. I hope, I _believe_ , that for a while at least, he felt a sense of security, of family and belonging. If Elijah went into foster care at 6 years old, how many such moments could he ever have known? That knowledge weighs so heavily on me sometimes, Chris.

I was very touched and surprised when Elijah handed me a small gift-wrapped package. He didn’t have to get me anything, but it obviously was important to him, and I’ve rarely been given a gift that had so much care and thought put into it. It’s a CD mix, the kind that you make yourself at a music store, which may not sound like much, but Allie told me when I tucked her into bed tonight that Elijah spent hours at Border’s listening to songs and picking the ones he thought I’d like. I’m listening to it right now, Chris, and it’s almost uncanny really—I think Elijah knows my musical taste better than I do. Every song he chose speaks to me in a different way, and I realize how limited my musical tastes have been up until now.

The girls made me put the CD on right away, and we listened to it while we finished up the cookies. There was a play list in the CD case, but I asked Elijah to tell me about the songs he’d chosen. He’s like a different person when he talks about music, or anything else that truly interests him. I’ve only spent a few hours so far tutoring Elijah for his GED, but I can already tell that he has a curious and questioning mind, and he soaks up information like a sponge. The problem I’m going to have is slowing him down—he’s so anxious to learn. I’d love to have a few more Elijahs in my classroom this year.

By the time the last cookie was gone, the girls were starting to get antsy (yes, they were on a sugar high—I can see your wry expression), so we broke up the party. After they got dressed, the girls went outside to play in the yard for a while, and Elijah and I sat at the kitchen table and tackled some math problems. I’m afraid that math is going to be the hardest part of the GED for him, although I have no doubt whatsoever that he’ll pass with flying colors, despite his misgivings. He’s much too bright and committed not to.

A little later I took everyone out for lunch and a movie. I’ve just started reading _The Lord of the Rings_ aloud to Allie, and she is very taken with the idea of giving presents on one’s birthday. So in honor of hobbits everywhere, I treated the girls and Elijah to Chuck E. Cheese and a Disney movie. (Well, I’m not sure exactly how much of a treat ‘Snow Buddies’ was for Elijah, but he was much too polite to complain.) Getting Elijah to let me pay for him nearly turned into a pitched battle, but Allie came to the rescue. ‘But Lijah, daddy’s being a hobbit now. You have to let him pay for you.’ End of argument. Bless our daughter.

You know, when I met Elijah, he was completely broke, and it never occurred to me that he could ever have been anything but poor. But from some little things he’s let fall, completely inadvertently, I’m beginning to realize that that may not be the case. He knows about expensive clothes and food, Chris, far, far more than I do. When he and Allie sit and look through magazines, he throws around designer names that I’ve never heard of. At some point, he must have been exposed to a lifestyle as different from ours as could possibly be. 

I admit that my curiosity about him has almost gotten the better of me a few times lately. But I won’t break my promise and ask him anything. He’ll tell me when the time is right, I’m confident of that.

Elijah had to go to work shortly after we got home from the movie, but we saw him a little while later at the restaurant. I wore my new sweater and bracelet, and Allie and Lizzy were thrilled at all the compliments I got on them. Most of the family was there—my parents and yours, Mack of course, Sue, Ed and the twins, Joe, Robin and their brood, and Peter and Beth. We had the entire back room to ourselves, and the atmosphere was pretty emotional at first as we hadn’t all been together since your memorial service. But with so many children underfoot and getting into mischief, it was impossible to stay sad—there was no time—and for once everyone, even your sister, was on their best behavior.   
You’ll be relieved to know that Beth looked terrific. Her pregnancy is going very well, and Danielle Christine Harrell should be putting in an appearance just about two months from now. Allie and Lizzy got to feel her kick, like they did when you were pregnant with Bella. The excitement over a new baby in the family is tremendous. We all need this new life to celebrate after your loss.

There isn’t any other major family news to report—things are pretty much as usual. Joe was bitching about always getting stuck with the worst cases to prosecute, Ed and I talked shop for a while, and Peter tried to interest Elijah in investing in a couple of stocks which, as you can imagine, wasn’t much of a success—especially as Elijah was trying to serve us our appetizers at the time. Your brother never stops trying to make a sale, I’ll give him that.

In retrospect, it _was_ the right decision for Elijah not to join us for dinner, although as you know, I was unhappy when he dug in his heels and insisted that he be the one to wait on us. It was the right decision not because I got to see first-hand how well Elijah is doing in his work, but because it was patently obvious that some members of our families are still suspicious of his continued presence in our home. Your sister, apparently, has been referring to him as ‘the freeloader’ behind my back, implying that he’s been taking advantage of me. Sue persists in treating me as if I’m incapable of handling my own affairs, and she must think my first name has been legally changed to ‘poor Sean’, based on the number of times she’s called me that. Honestly, Chris—oh, but what’s the point of complaining? She means well, I know that.

At any rate, she was on her best behavior tonight, and treated Elijah very cordially. The fact that he refused to accept a tip (and I spoke to Mack privately about that, and he _will_ find a way to get the money into Elijah’s pocket) went a long way toward erasing the word ‘freeloader’ from her vocabulary. Even before then, she, like everyone else, was impressed with Elijah’s professionalism and how he handled our very large order without a single mistake. 

Does it seem silly that I was almost absurdly proud of him?

You would have smiled at how he treated the girls, handing them their menus with a flourish, and reciting a list of specials that included things like baked dragon scales and deep-fried ants—which delighted them no end. Their Shirley Temples came with paper umbrellas and four cherries each. As for me, well, I might have been the King of England and the President of the United States rolled into one. Nothing, as far as Elijah was concerned, was too good for me, and he must have asked me a dozen times at least if my food was satisfactory and if there was anything else I needed. Once or twice I caught Mack looking at Elijah with a funny expression on his face. But I imagine the Elijah who was waiting on us tonight was not the Elijah Mack is used to seeing. 

When our main course arrived, there was another young man helping Elijah to serve the food. Elijah called him Dom, and they seemed pretty friendly. Or at least, Elijah didn’t seem as reserved with Dom as he is with most people, and Dom struck me as one of those naturally quick-witted and funny types; he had all the children giggling with his jokes, and when he did a magic trick with a napkin—stuffing it into his fist and then pulling it out of his ear—you should have heard them squealing.

Of course, it’s really none of my business who Elijah’s friends are, but there’s a permanent scar through his left eyebrow, a legacy from that beating he’d taken just before I met him, and I don’t want to see him hurt any more than he already has been. I’d hate for Elijah to think I’m checking up on him, but maybe I’ll sound Mack out a little about this Dom guy, just to relieve my mind. 

I’d expected there to be a birthday cake, and sure enough there was. It was practically covered in pink and blue roses—a wise idea with so many kids to fight over them (including, it goes without saying and I won’t name names, kids old enough to know better). Elijah carried it in after we’d ordered our coffee, and he was smiling like I’ve never seen him smile before. Everyone sang ‘Happy Birthday’ and I blew the candles out with some assistance from the girls. There were 33 candles on the cake, Chris. Can you believe it? I insisted that Elijah sit down with us then, and have a piece of cake, and I also made sure he got the largest rose. He’s still too thin, and better _he_ eat it than me.

There were presents, too, of course. They are mostly practical kinds of gifts such as clothes, all greatly needed and appreciated, and none so much as the new computer that was a joint present from your parents and mine. They shouldn’t have gone to so much expense—I know exactly how much it cost them—but it will help to have a decent computer, the ones at school being so badly in need of replacement. 

Elijah helped me set up the new computer when he got home, and we stayed up far later than we should have playing a new version of Warcraft that Mack gave me as a present. I made Elijah promise not to let me win, even though it was my birthday, and he kicked my butt again. I swear, one of these days I’m at least going to come _close_ to beating him at a computer game. I told Elijah that he could have my old computer since the girls have the new one I gave them for Christmas. Not surprisingly, he argued with me, but I can be stubborn, too, and there was that hobbit ploy that Allie used. That came in handy.

He finally gave in, and we moved the computer into his bedroom. Before we parted for the night, he thanked me for the twentieth time at least, and he had that look again: as if he was actually on the verge of tears because someone had done something nice for him. I just laughed and hugged him and said good night, but you know, I felt a little like crying myself. 

One odd thing happened this evening that I’m still puzzling over, Chris. Right before we left the restaurant, Mack pulled me aside and asked me how things were going with Elijah. I’m totally baffled as to why he asked, since he and I talk almost every day and he’d be the first to hear about any problems, but I said things were perfectly fine. He replied that he was glad to hear it, but if I decided for any reason that it was better for Elijah to move out, to let him know and he’d help him find a place to stay. I thanked him and said I’d keep that in mind, but what on earth made Mack even bring it up? 

I see absolutely no reason for Elijah to leave if he doesn’t want to, as I’ve told him any number of times. For one thing, why should he take on the expense of an apartment, or have to share one with a bunch of strangers, when he’s not only welcome here, but seems so happy to be with us? For another, the girls would miss him, and so would I. 

Sometimes I simply don’t understand my brother.

Well, I’ve rambled on too long again, but for once it was mostly happy rambling. Are you glad? I have the stereo turned down low, so it won’t disturb the girls or Elijah, but I can make out the words of the song, one that I suspect speaks to Elijah of hope, just as it does to me.

_I'm not expecting to grow flowers in the desert, But I can live and breathe and see the sun in wintertime..._

I see the sun grow stronger every day, Chris, and spring will be arriving soon.

Good night, my dearest. I miss you always.

Love,

Sean


	5. Letter 5: St. Patrick's Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sean and Elijah go to an Irish pub on St. Patrick's Day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty heavy angst in this chapter. Elijah's story is based on a number of articles, interviews and other sources (not related to RL Elijah, of course).

March 18th

My darling Chris,

I’ve been sitting here for what must be hours, watching Elijah sleep. I expect it will be morning soon, though truthfully I’ve been too wrapped up in my thoughts to be very conscious of the passage of time.

I nearly gave up on writing this letter altogether; I just stared at the blank piece of paper, envisioning how the words would appear on the page, stark and irrefutable. But I have to write it. I have to try and come to terms with what happened last night, and there is no one I can talk to about it except for you. 

If my handwriting looks strange, well, that’s because my knuckles are so swollen that it’s difficult to hold a pen. I tried writing left-handed, but that was barely legible. If you’re wondering _why_ my knuckles are swollen, I’ll tell you, though you will be shocked and upset. Chris, I got into a fight at a bar. Your husband, who has always espoused the belief that violence is not an acceptable solution to any problem, hit someone. 

And the humbling truth is that I’d do it again, without hesitation. 

I’m not being deliberately cryptic, Chris; let me try to tell the story from the beginning, with some semblance of coherency if I can.

Yesterday was St. Patrick’s Day. Elijah was scheduled to work the lunch shift at Mack’s, so I asked him if he’d like to go to Paddy’s Pub with me after supper. I thought he’d get a kick out of their green beer, and it’s rare that he ever has a chance to go out in the evening, given the shift he usually works. ‘That sounds like fun,’ he said, so I arranged for your parents to watch the girls, and we drove downtown.

It was the first time I’d been to Paddy’s in ages, and there were a lot of new faces there, along with a handful of the regulars, who did a double take when I came in. I forget sometimes how completely I dropped out of things after you died. But everyone seemed glad to see me, if slaps on the back and offers to buy me a beer are any measure, and it felt good to be remembered.

Elijah and I settled in at the bar, and ordered our beers. He made the most godawful face when he was handed his, as bad as any Lizzy has made when she doesn’t want to eat her vegetables. He said that green beer was just plain _wrong_ , but I advised him to close his eyes and give it a try, which he did. ‘Fucking fantastic’ is what he called it, and didn’t make a single face when I proposed a second round. 

It started out as one of the best evenings I’d spent in a very long time. When he lets his guard down, and has a couple of beers in him, Elijah can be very funny, and we laughed our asses off, especially while we were playing darts. Elijah is quite possibly the worst dart player in human history, and even though I was totally out of practice, it was easy to get my own back at last for all the games of Warcraft I’ve lost. 

Elijah looked happy, Chris, truly, truly happy. There was a glow about him that I hadn’t seen before, and I remember thinking that this was something we should do more often—go out together, just the two of us.

If I’m dwelling on those moments, it’s because in retrospect they seem to belong to another age, an age of innocence. I thought I was a pretty worldly guy. After all, I teach history so I know perfectly well what we as a species are capable of doing to each other. But I never understood exactly _how_ sheltered and privileged my life has been until last night. Yes, I suffered a tremendous loss, but there are other kinds of losses that are equally bad, or perhaps worse, like the loss of childhood and innocence. I said to you after Elijah came here that maybe he was meant to be my Clarence. Over the past few hours I have once again been giving silent thanks for the blessings in my life, but most especially that my children will grow up knowing what it means to be loved, cherished and protected. 

When Elijah eventually excused himself to go to the men’s room, I was in the midst of a heated political debate with a few of the guys. (You know how I get on the topic of Bush and Cheney and the direction they are taking this country.) I wasn’t really paying attention to how long he’d been gone, but it hit me suddenly that he should have returned by then. In fact, it probably hadn’t been all that long, but I was uneasy. I honestly don’t know if I’ll ever get to the point where a situation like that doesn’t start to freak me out. I tried to apply the techniques Dr. Chaudry taught me to control the panic, but as usual I wasn’t particularly successful.

I forced myself to wait a few minutes, but my imagination got the better of me and I started picturing Elijah in all kinds of trouble—injured, bleeding, dying—and me arriving at the hospital, once again, too late… After a certain point, there’s nothing I can do but give in to these panic attacks, so I went to look for him. 

I expected to run into him returning from the men’s room, and was prepared to apologize for being an over-reactive idiot, but I didn’t; and he wasn’t in the men’s room either. My irrational fear was starting to climb off the charts when the perfectly logical explanation hit me that he must have gone outside to have a cigarette. It was hot and stuffy in the bar—or at least that was the excuse I gave myself— so I decided to join him.

Only, when I got outside, there wasn’t a soul in sight. That’s when I started to feel genuine panic, Chris. It was as if Elijah had simply disappeared. I keep wondering what would have happened if I hadn’t decided to walk to the end of the block. I wasn’t really expecting to find Elijah, but I had to do _something_ with all the jittery energy inside me. There’s an alleyway between Paddy’s and the hardware store next door, and as I approached it, I could hear a voice: Elijah’s voice.

He was saying, ‘Look, I’m not interested, okay?’ 

My mind immediately thought of drugs. It certainly wouldn’t have been the first time a pusher hung out in that alleyway. 

‘Don’t give me that shit. You came back here with me, didn’t you?’ It was a man’s voice and it sounded a bit slurred, as if he’d been drinking.

‘I only came back here with you because you forced me to.’ 

I started running, Chris.

‘You think I don’t know a hustler when I see one?’ the man was saying. ‘Hanging out the corner like that, what else could you be?’

‘I’m not a hustler; I just came outside for a smoke.’ Elijah’s voice was calm, but I could hear the tension underlying the words, and also, it seemed to me, the fear. ‘Now please step out of the way and let me pass.’

When I entered the alley, the first thing I saw was Elijah. He was standing with his back against the wall of the hardware store, just outside the circle of light cast by the streetlight, and there was this guy—a big guy with a mustache who must have outweighed Elijah by a hundred pounds—practically pinning him up against it. Elijah looked so small and defenseless, Chris. He reminded me of the Elijah I met in St. Cecilia’s, that weary boxer with rubbery legs trying desperately to stay on his feet. The wonder is I didn’t jump the son of a bitch immediately. But I tried to keep my cool, I really did.

‘Elijah, is everything okay?’ I asked as calmly as I could, and I’ll never forget his face when he turned it toward me. It was so stark and white and resigned, as if he didn’t have the slightest hope that he could be saved from the situation. I understand why now. I wish I didn’t, but I do.

The guy barely glanced at me, as if I was of no more significance than a mosquito buzzing around him. ‘Fuck off, buddy,’ he said. ‘This is none of your business.’

‘As a matter of fact, it _is_ my business,’ I replied, walking slowly forward. ‘That’s my friend. He came here with me.’

‘Yeah? Well, tough shit. Looks like you lost your place in line. But I’m a generous guy,’ and he laughed, Chris. Jesus, he laughed. ‘When pretty boy here is done sucking me off, you can have him.’

I could see then that he had a hard-on, but the ugliness and crudeness of his words was almost worse than the knowledge of what he was expecting Elijah to do. 

‘I don’t think you understand.’ I was still speaking calmly, but I could feel bile burning the back of my throat. ‘I’m taking my friend and we’re leaving. Step back and let him go.’ 

He eyed me up and down and smirked. ‘Yeah, right. You gonna make me, little man?’ And then he actually had the gall to put his hands on Elijah’s shoulders and start pushing him to his knees. 

Elijah didn’t even try to resist, but went down on his knees. He seemed almost mesmerized, as if there was some horrible inevitability to what was happening that he was helpless to prevent. That was the moment when something snapped inside me. I don’t think I’ve ever been so… I’d say angry, but that doesn’t even come close to describing how I felt, Chris. 

‘Get your hands _off_ him,’ I yelled, and I went right up to him, grabbed his arm and threw it from Elijah. ‘ _Now_.’ 

‘Sean, don’t,’ Elijah whispered. ‘He’ll hurt you.’

‘Fucking a’, I’ll hurt him,’ the guy growled, like a grotesque caricature of a cartoon bully. But I didn’t wait for him to make the first move. I shoved him with both hands, so that he went staggering backward, then I pulled Elijah to his feet and told him to go back to the bar. By then the guy had recovered and was coming at me, but he was drunk and the swing he took went wild. I ducked under his flailing arm and hit him in the face with my fist as hard as I could. I didn’t even hesitate, Chris; to be honest, I didn’t even care if I killed him. It must have hurt like hell, given the evidence I’m looking at right now, but I didn’t feel it. All I felt, I’m ashamed to say, was a deep sense of satisfaction.

Lucky for me, he had a glass jaw, and that one punch laid him out for the count. Elijah hadn’t returned to the bar as I’d asked him to, but I can’t say I really expected that he would. As soon as I was sure that the guy was still breathing, I said, ‘Let’s get out of here, Elijah.’ He was staring at me, and I’m not sure he even heard me. His face was all in shadow as his back was to the light, but his eyes… they catch whatever light there is, and the look in them was one of devastation. 

We went back into Paddy’s to get our coats, and I told Paddy that there was some trash in the alley that needed picking up. Then we left. Elijah hadn’t said a single word. On the drive home he sat with his face turned toward the window. When I asked him if he was okay, he only said in a small voice, ‘I don’t want to talk right now, Sean,’ and wouldn’t look at me. He began biting at his fingernails, bloodying the cuticles, and that, more than anything, told me how deeply upset he was.

My hand was swelling up and starting to kill me by then. The adrenaline was finally wearing off, I suppose. I pulled the car into the garage, but I didn’t move after I shut off the engine. 

‘Elijah,’ I said, ‘it’s probably better if my in-laws don’t know what happened. There’s no point in needlessly upsetting them. If they notice my hand, I’ll think up something to tell them.’

‘Your hand?’ Elijah sort of started, and I realized that he had no idea I’d hurt it.

‘Yeah, I seem to be making a habit of bashing up my hands lately,’ I joked, referring to New Year’s Eve, but when I held it up, he only looked, if possible, more devastated than before. 

‘This is all my fault,’ he said, staring at it with a sick expression. ‘I’m so sorry.’

I told him that was nonsense, and that the only person at fault was the son of a bitch who forced him into that alleyway. But it was obvious that he didn’t believe me. I couldn’t understand—then—why he was so bound and determined to blame himself.

I managed to keep my face impassive and my hand away from your parents’ notice while they asked me how the evening had gone. Elijah was subdued—but then he isn’t usually very talkative around your parents, so I don’t think they noticed anything out of the ordinary. They didn’t linger after reporting that Lizzy and Allie had finished their homework, and all three girls had gone to bed without a fuss. I was relieved, because I desperately wanted to talk to Elijah alone and get to the bottom of whatever was bothering him. After they left, I went to the kitchen to get some ice to put on my knuckles. Elijah came with me, and he took a bag of frozen peas from the freezer, wrapped it in a dishtowel and gave it to me. All without a word.

‘We need to talk about what happened,’ I said, as I draped the makeshift ice pack over the back of my hand, ‘and why you think you’re somehow to blame.’

‘Because I _am_ to blame,’ Elijah replied in an emotionless voice. He was staring down at his feet. ‘I thought I could run away from my past, make a fresh start. But I can’t. He knew, Sean. He knew the second he set eyes on me.’

‘What did he know?’ I asked, and I was floundering, completely at sea. ‘Elijah, I don’t understand you.’

‘He recognized me for what I am: a no-good whore.’

I didn’t intend to laugh, and it certainly wasn’t a laugh of amusement, but rather of startlement and sheer disbelief. ‘Elijah, don’t say such a thing,’ I protested. ‘It’s not true.’

‘Isn’t it?’ His head snapped up, and Chris, it was as if I was suddenly staring at a stranger, a stranger with Elijah’s features, body and clothes, but who was otherwise completely unlike the young man I’d grown to consider a part of the family. As if a switch had been turned on inside him, he was…energized, alight, smiling, but it was no more a smile of amusement than my laugh had been meant to be funny. It was a sly and knowing smile, as if Elijah, this strange and unsettling new Elijah, knew things about me that I didn’t even know about myself. 

He said in a low voice that was almost a purr, ‘I can make you feel good, handsome, real good. Do things to you that will blow your mind. ‘Cause I’m the best, the very best.’ 

Elijah took a couple of steps toward me then, and it wasn’t his walk either, but a seductive sway calculated to draw my attention—and it did. He leaned in close to me and began to toy with a button on my shirt. I couldn’t seem to stop him; some strange inertia had seized me.

‘Tell me what you want,’ he whispered, and when he glanced up at me, his eyes—dear god, those eyes—promised more even than his words: ‘Tell me your deepest, darkest fantasy. I can bring it to life, be whatever you want me to be.’ 

Before I knew what was happening, he had two buttons open and his hand was inside my shirt and touching my bare chest. His palm felt as if it was on fire. ‘You like the way that feels,’ he said with that knowing smile, ‘I can tell by the way your heart’s racing.’

The shameful truth is that it did feel good. Despite myself, I was responding to him, and I began to panic, practically choking on the fear that I would let matters get out of control, confirm for Elijah the very thing I needed to disprove. 

He replaced his hand with his lips—they burned my skin like a brand. ‘You wanna fuck me, don’t you? Admit it.’

‘ _No_.’ For the second time that night I snapped. But it was fear that made me snap this time, Chris, not anger. I dropped the ice pack on the floor, took Elijah by the shoulders and shook him. ‘Stop it,’ I said fiercely, shaking him so hard his head rolled, and I only managed not to shout because I was afraid I might wake one of the girls. ‘Stop it, Elijah.’

When I finally released him, there was an appalled silence while we stared at each other, and then, as if he was a puppet whose strings had been cut, he sank to the floor. ‘I’m no good,’ he said dully. ‘No good.’ And then he began to cry. 

I knelt beside him and put my arms around him, held him as he had once held me. ‘That’s not true,’ I said, over and over, but he was sobbing so hard that I doubt he could hear me. It was painful to watch him, and even more painful to hold him and feel the sobs tearing through his body. I’ve experienced that sort of crying—didn’t I cry like that after you died?—and I know how it feels inside, as if your guts are being slowly ripped apart. I had the sense that for Elijah, this was the setting free of the accumulated tears of a lifetime of abandonment and neglect, and that it was necessary. But as the terrible, tearing sounds went on and on, I couldn’t bear it any more.

‘Elijah, you’re going to make yourself sick,’ I said, rocking him a little. ‘Come on, take it easy now.’

The sobs gradually died down to hiccoughs, and Elijah choked out, ‘Sean, I’m—I think I _am_ going to be sick.’ I got him to the sink just in time. When he was finished retching, he stayed hunched over, sweating and shaking, and tears were streaming down his face. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’ He kept apologizing over and over.

I hushed him, and said, ‘Let’s get you cleaned up.’ I helped him to the bathroom and he washed his face and brushed his teeth. He’d gone completely passive, Chris, frighteningly so. I didn’t dare to leave him, not for a minute. We went next to his bedroom and he changed into my old red plaid pajamas that I’d given him at Christmas. Then we went back to the kitchen, where I made us some tea, and finally to the family room. 

He looked at me when I got that old wool throw your grandmother crocheted and put it around him. He was still shivering a little, although it was warm in the house. ‘Why are you being so nice to me, after what I did?’ he asked. ‘Why don’t you hate me?’

‘I could never hate you,’ I said, ‘and that wasn’t you.’

‘But it _was_ me,’ Elijah replied with a painful, exhausted honesty. ‘Don’t you understand yet? I was a prostitute, Sean, a whore, a hustler. That’s how I made my living from the time I was sixteen.’

Should I have expected it? Had I been stupidly or willfully blind, missing clues that I should have picked up on? I’ve asked myself those questions a dozen times. After all, Elijah had been willing to trade sex with me for a bed for the night. But that had seemed the desperate act of a person pushed to the extremity of need, and I choose to believe that rather than blind, my heart instinctively understood the important truth about Elijah. 

I said to him, ‘But that’s not what you are now, Elijah. What matters is that you’ve left that part of your life behind and moved on.’ 

‘I don’t think I can ever leave it behind,’ he whispered. ‘That guy… he could see it. It must be written all over me, what I am.’

‘No, that's not true. He saw a young man standing outside a bar smoking a cigarette and jumped to the wrong conclusion. He was drunk, physically stronger than you and forced you to go into that alley with him when you didn’t want to. Elijah, don’t make what happened out to be worse than it was. Don’t give that drunken asshole so much importance. He doesn’t deserve it.’

Elijah’s head had been bent, his fingers clenched around the mug. But he suddenly reached out and took my hand and kissed the bruised knuckles. ‘You’re the first person who has ever done anything for me without wanting something in return,’ he said. ‘The first person who has ever cared what happened to me. The first person who has ever stood up for me.’

It was such a different kiss from that other one, Chris, and I realized again how much love and tenderness Elijah has inside him that he has never been able to spend. But I don’t want him to believe that I’m somehow unique, to set me on a pedestal, because pedestals are only there for people to fall from. 

‘There are a lot of good and caring people in the world, Elijah,’ I said gently. ‘I’m hardly unique.’

‘You are in the world I come from. You don’t know what it’s like…’ And young as he looks, even younger than his real age, Elijah’s eyes seemed a thousand years old then, and looking into them I felt very much as Dante must have felt, about to enter the ninth level of Hell, not wanting to go there, but compelled to.

‘Elijah,’ I said, ‘don’t you think it’s time you told me about your past? I _don’t_ know what it’s like, but maybe I should.’

I thought he was going to refuse. Elijah stared into his tea for a long time, as if it held some cryptic message he needed to decipher, and then he started to talk.

*  
*  
*  
*

I’m back, Chris. I had to step away for a little while and gather my thoughts again before continuing. I looked in on the girls, and they are all sleeping sweetly. The sort of sleep I imagine Elijah rarely ever experienced as a child.

Intellectually, I’m aware that children fall through the cracks of social services. I’ve read about cases where kids in foster care are abused or neglected. But reading about it and hearing about it first-hand from someone who lived it are two very different things. For the most part, Elijah spoke dispassionately, Chris, as if he was telling me a story about someone else. I suppose it’s the only way he can deal with the things that were done to him.

I haven’t figured out yet how to deal with them myself. The same impotent anger that filled me in the months after you died, that made me rail against God and ask Him how he could allow such things to happen, fills me now. 

‘My mom was a crack addict,’ was the first thing Elijah said. ‘I don’t know who my dad was. Some dealer or crack-head, I expect. He never showed his face as far as I recall, and if my mom ever mentioned his name, I was too young to remember it.’

‘Do you have any other family?’ I asked him, trying not to show my shock at his calmly-spoken words.

‘Not that I’ve ever met. My mom was estranged from them and she didn’t go by her real name. I think she had it legally changed, although I could be wrong.’ He was swirling the tea around and around in the mug, and didn’t look at me as he went on, ‘I was born premature and addicted ‘cause of my mom’s drug use. That’s why I’m so small, I think.’ He shrugged. ‘She managed to get clean after I was born, though, and she took the best care of me she could, until she got involved with this guy who was into drugs.’ He looked at me then, and his eyes were so sad. ‘My mom couldn’t beat her habit, but she wasn’t a bad person, Sean, and I know she loved me. I remember her rocking me and singing me to sleep. She had such a pretty voice…’ 

‘You told me you ended up in foster care when you were six,’ I prodded gently, when he showed no sign of continuing. ‘What happened?’

His face grew completely expressionless. ‘Like I said, my mom couldn’t beat her drug habit. The police raided a crack house and my mom and her boyfriend were arrested. The Social Services people found me home alone in their apartment—I’d been there a couple of days, and there was no food left. So I was taken away from her. I was made a ward of the state, since I didn’t have any other family, and put into a foster home. I never saw my mom again.’

‘I’m so sorry, Elijah.’ Stupid, inadequate words, Chris, but I didn’t know what else I could say.

‘It was a long time ago,’ he said quietly. ‘But I would’ve been better off living with her or fending for myself than living in foster care. Before I came to live with you, the only really happy memories I had were memories of my mom before she got hooked on crack again.’

Elijah had absent-mindedly pushed up his pajama sleeve, and he was rubbing at a spot on his forearm. There was an old scar there that I’d noticed before—the kind of scar that’s left behind by a bad burn. 

‘The first home I was placed in, the husband was a fucking sadist. He and his wife only took us kids in to make money, and he used to hit us with his belt or burn us with cigarettes or do whatever fucked up shit came into his head when he lost his temper. That’s how I got so good at taking care of sick kids. We all did, ‘cause he sure as fuck wasn’t going to take us to the doctor or emergency room, and his wife was too fucked up herself to do it.’ 

‘That little girl you mentioned to me once, was she one of those kids?’ I asked.

‘Yeah, that was Kim. She was such a sweet kid, but for some reason he always seemed to take it out on her more than any of us.’

I made some kind of noise, and Elijah looked at me with pity in his eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Sean,’ he said. ‘I know this isn’t the easiest story to listen to. Do you want me to stop?’

‘No, it’s all right,’ I said, though I felt sick inside. ‘How long were you there, Elijah?’

‘Nearly three years, and then I couldn’t take it anymore and I ran away. I went to look for my mom. The Social Services people found me before I got very far, but at least I was placed with a different foster family then. They were okay, I suppose, but I wanted to be with my mom. I had this crazy dream that she and I would leave the city together. She’d get off the drugs and we’d buy a little house someplace, just the two of us, and have a dog and a backyard and shit. I’d have my own room instead of sharing with a bunch of other kids, and I’d have nice clothes, too. I was sick of being sneered at and bullied by the kids at school because I was in a foster home and wore shit clothes that didn’t fit. I stopped going to school mostly—just hung out on the streets with some of the older kids. I got into some trouble—nothing too serious, mostly petty shit.’

Oh Chris, you can imagine how this made me feel—a teacher and parent who has tried to inculcate in his students and his own children the values of tolerance and compassion. But I know all too well how cruel children can be to those they perceive as different. 

‘I ran away a bunch of times trying to find my mom,’ Elijah went on, ‘but I was always caught and put back in the system. I lived in five different foster homes, Sean, and I hated them all. The only thing that kept me going was the knowledge that when I turned eighteen I’d be free at last, and no one could stop me from finding my mom. But then when I was sixteen, I discovered that my mom had died of an overdose when I was twelve. She’d been dead for four whole fucking years, and no one had ever told me. ‘Bureaucratic error’, they called it.’ He scrubbed his sleeve furiously across his eyes. ‘That’s when I ran away for good, away from the fucked up system that was supposed to be there to help me, but instead kept me apart from the only person who had ever loved me until it was too late.’

‘Elijah, I’m so sorry,’ I said again. ‘Where did you go? How did you manage?’

Elijah bowed his head and was silent for a long time, and I had the impression he was holding some sort of internal debate. Eventually he said, ‘I went where I knew I could make some easy money, where it didn’t matter if I’d graduated high school or not. I’d figured out pretty early on that I was gay, and I’d also figured out pretty early on that men…liked me.’

I made another strangled sound, and Elijah stared at me with those thousand year-old eyes. ‘Maybe there are some things it’s just better you don’t know, Sean,’ he said quietly. I didn’t argue, Chris. If that means I’m a coward, so be it.

‘Anyway, I changed my name and started hustling for a living, working bars and clubs in the Village mostly. I slept on the streets or in the subways at first, but I tried to be smarter than most runaways. I didn’t let myself get sucked into doing crack or smack or anything like that, ‘cause I sure as fuck didn’t want to end up strung out like my mom. I smoked weed—it made easier to cope, do what I had to do—but nothing harder. I stayed clean, and when I was eighteen, I joined an escort service. I’d decided that I wasn’t gonna be sneered at anymore, that _I_ was gonna be the one with the designer clothes and a nice place to live and money in my pocket. You see, that’s where the serious money is, in the escort services. Plus, they pay for you to be tested regularly for AIDS and STDs. They make sure you’re healthy, protect you.’

By now, it was as if a floodgate had opened, and Elijah couldn’t stop talking. 

‘For a while, things were great. I was good at what I did, and I had my pick of the johns. Before long I was making $500 an hour, which for a male escort is like being Brad fucking Pitt or something. I could afford that nice apartment and the designer clothes, and I ate at the best restaurants and got into the most exclusive clubs. I had johns pay to fly me into places like Vegas or DC. I was the best,’ he said, and there was no misplaced pride or arrogance in the words, just simple truth. I could believe it, too, after that performance in the kitchen.

‘What was it that made you decide to give it up?’

‘I got tired of living like a fucking vampire, up all night, sleeping all day. I got tired of being fucked by guys who would have spat on me if they met me at the supermarket or when they were out with their families. If I ran into a john on the street, he’d look right through me like I didn’t exist, even if he’d had his dick up my ass the night before, and been begging me to tell him that I loved him. I realized that I was nothing but a fuck toy for wealthy fags, and I didn’t want to be that anymore. The money, the fancy clothes, the apartment—they hadn’t stopped people from sneering at me after all. I was nothing,’ he repeated.

He began to fidget with the tea mug again. ‘The problem was, though, that I couldn’t just hand in my notice, like I worked at a fucking McDonald’s or something. For one thing, I was bringing in more money than anyone else—they took 25% of whatever I made— and for another, some of my regular johns were politicians and businessmen. A few of them were still in the closet. So confidentiality was a huge fucking deal, and they wouldn’t take any chances on me going to the authorities and blowing the whistle on them. They always kept an eye on me—discreetly, but I knew I was being watched. Since I wasn’t an addict, I’d managed to save up a shit-load of money, so I started working out a plan for getting out of the city unnoticed and disappearing. But I couldn’t get away without help. Most of the other escorts resented me, ‘cause I was treated better and got my pick of the johns. But there was this one guy who I thought was my friend. So I asked him to help me, told him what I was planning.’ He scrubbed at his eyes again. They were red-rimmed and puffy, but I couldn’t see any tears in them. ‘I was a fucking idiot, Sean. I never should have trusted him. He went and told them.’

‘What did they do to you when they found out?’ To say I didn’t want to ask Elijah that question or hear the answer is the understatement of the century, Chris.

‘There was this client,’ Elijah said heavily. ‘He was into hardcore S&M, and only certain guys were willing to service him—the ones who were into that kind of shit or needed the extra money badly enough. I was never one of them, and besides, I’d always been able to call my own shots with the johns. Never had to do any kinky stuff I didn’t want to. But they decided it was time to teach me a lesson, show me that I wasn’t so special after all, and he was the one they picked to give it to me.’

Elijah’s eyes had turned inward, gone to someplace I couldn’t and didn’t want to follow. ‘Was he the one who beat you?’ I asked him softly, while I tried to keep from visualizing the circumstances—Elijah locked in some hotel room with a man who got off on inflicting pain.

‘No, he didn’t touch my face.’ Elijah gave another of those humorless laughs. ‘My face was my fortune, Sean. They never would have let it be damaged. But there were plenty of other ways he could hurt me, ways that wouldn’t show but would bring me to heel.’

‘Elijah… Jesus.’ It was all I could say, because the bile was rising in my throat again—not that it had been far distant ever since he began his story.

‘When it was over, I ran. I just left it all behind—my apartment, my savings, my fancy clothes—and got the fuck out of the city with nothing but the money I had in my pocket. I hopped on the first Greyhound bus leaving the Port Authority terminal and went as far as I could. I ended up in Chicago, and stayed there for a few months. I took back my real name and tried to find real work, but I didn’t have much luck, just scored a few odd jobs here and there. I had no education and no skills… The only thing I was good at was servicing johns, but I didn’t want to go back to hustling, and I was afraid I might have to. So I decided to try my luck someplace else. I left Chicago and moved around for a while, staying in homeless shelters or sleeping on the street like I did when I was younger.’

He spoke entirely without self-pity, Chris, and yet what must those months have been like for him? 

‘How did you end up here?’ 

‘Please don’t laugh,’ Elijah said with a sudden, shy diffidence, ‘but I think maybe my mom was looking out for me. You know, a sort of guardian angel, like Lizzy always calls Chris, ‘cause the first good thing that ever happened to me was meeting you in that church. I’d been in Indianapolis, even managed to score a job at a fast food place, but I made the mistake of taking the wrong bed at the shelter there, and got the shit beat out of me by this homeless guy. I couldn’t go to work looking like that, and I decided it was time to move on. This is where my bus ticket landed me.’

‘I would never laugh at you,’ I said gently, ‘and if your mom had any influence on bringing you here, then I’m very, very glad.’

Elijah flushed. ‘I didn’t know where to go when I got off the bus. I wandered around downtown for a while, and then I discovered that the church was open—a lot of them aren’t. It was warmer than outside and so peaceful and quiet. Then you came and sat down next to me and gave me that coffee. You were so kind to me, even after I accused you of hitting on me.’

‘You told me that you would have slept with me, just for a place to spend the night,’ I said. ‘You must have been very desperate, after having turned your back on that part of your life.’

‘Sean, that beating at the shelter… it—it sort of killed something inside me,’ he whispered. ‘After that, I figured there was no hope for me to find a real job and be like everyone else. I’d tried, tried for months, and in the end I had nothing but a little money to take me to another town, and a face covered in bruises.’

I put my arms around him and pulled him to me. ‘Oh Elijah.’ He resisted at first, as if this comfort was something he didn’t deserve, but then he relaxed against me.

‘When you brought me here, it was like...’ He looked around our family room with a sort of wonder on his face. The room was neat as a pin since your mom as usual had picked up all the toys and games and vacuumed and dusted, but it’s filled with furniture that has seen better days, and the carpet is getting almost threadbare in spots. ‘I used to watch a lot of TV, mostly old sitcoms on TV Land, the ones that had these perfect families, and I’d imagine what it would be like to be part of a family like that.’

‘We’re not perfect by a long shot,’ I said, smiling a little, recalling how Lizzy and Allie had bickered at the breakfast table that morning and how Bella wouldn’t stop throwing her toast on the floor.

‘You are to me,’ Elijah replied, and then he added in a heart-broken voice, ‘I don’t want to leave, Sean.’

‘You don’t have to leave,’ I told him. ‘Why would you think that?’

His next words about broke _my_ heart: ‘But how can you still want me around the girls, knowing what I am and all the terrible things I’ve done?’

‘What you _were_ ,’ I corrected him, ‘and the truly terrible things were done _to_ you. I meant what I said: it’s what you are now that’s important. In the months you’ve been living with us, you’ve never acted in any way that caused me the slightest unease. You’ve worked hard at your job, taken care of the girls and me when we were sick, and paid me back the money I loaned you. You’re a part of our family now, and I’m not going to turn my back on you or betray you, like everyone else in your life has done.’

‘I thought you’d despise me, kick me out,’ he said in a small voice. ‘I was so afraid to tell you. I’ve been so happy here and I…’ He buried his face in my shoulder, said something muffled that I couldn’t make out.

I tightened my arms around him. ‘How could I despise you, Elijah? You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.’ _That’s_ the important truth about Elijah, Chris. That he has endured all that he has and yet emerged with his soul still intact. Could I have been that strong? I doubt it. ‘Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me.’ 

‘I’ve never had anyone in my life before that I could really trust,’ he said. ‘Sean, I’d do anything for you. _Anything_.’

A faint uneasiness went through me at the fervency of his words, the same words he had said to me on New Year’s Day. I’m afraid that Elijah _has_ put me squarely on a pedestal, Chris, and I don’t deserve to be. 

I stroked his hair back from his forehead, as I would have done for one of the girls. His skin felt warm, and I was worried that he might be coming down with something. ‘You should go to bed now. You look exhausted.’

He nodded and sat up slowly. ‘Will you be writing to Chris tonight?’ he asked.

‘I intended to,’ I said, and I was surprised by his question. It was the first time he’d mentioned your letters since I told him about them on Christmas Eve. I thought he’d forgotten all about them, to be honest.

‘Are you—are you going to tell her about me?’ He sounded apprehensive.

‘If it’s all right with you, yes, I’d like to tell her.’ It didn’t seem an odd conversation, Chris, although in retrospect I suppose it was.

‘I don’t mind,’ he replied. ‘But I hope she won’t think too badly of me.’

I remembered my vision of you in St. Cecilia’s the day I met Elijah, and your smile, and my sudden surety that offering him a place to stay was what you would have wanted me to do. 

‘She won’t think badly of you,’ I promised him, and he smiled—just a tiny smile, but it was a start. 

Elijah wouldn’t go to bed without first making sure that I was icing my hand and had taken some ibuprofen for the pain. He was dead on his feet by then, and I think he was asleep before his head touched the pillow. I suspect he wouldn’t have noticed if a brass band came marching through his bedroom playing Sousa, but nevertheless, it felt wrong to leave him alone. I can’t help but think of all the nights he spent in homeless shelters or, god help me, on the streets, or in some foster home, with no one to care about him or watch over him. 

I’m deeply worried about Elijah, Chris. For all his strength, he’s very vulnerable right now. But I’ll do everything in my power to convince him that he _can_ leave his past behind and build a new life, and that he is indeed worthy of love and respect. 

The thrushes in the pine tree outside the bedroom window have started singing. I guess morning is finally here. I’m going to go put on some coffee—I’ll need gallons to make it through the day—and then take a shower. I’ll have to wake Allie and Lizzy in a little bit, too. 

Chris, if you _are_ looking down, as Lizzy believes, I ask that you keep a special eye out for Elijah. Will you do that for me?

I’ll write again soon. I miss you.

Love,

Sean


	6. Letter 6: April Fool's Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elijah spends the night away from home, and Sean tries to come to terms with his feelings about it.

April 3rd

My darling Chris,

I once read an old Chinese proverb that went something along the lines of, "If you save someone's life, you are responsible for that life forever". I suppose I could stand accused of hubris for claiming credit for saving Elijah’s life, although what might have become of him if we hadn’t met is the stuff of nightmares for me. 

Hubris or not, I’ve taken that proverb to heart. I’m trying to give Elijah the stability that has been missing from his life until now, so that no matter where his path leads him, even if it’s away from here, he will always have a place to return to, a place he can call home.

But – something has happened that has led me to wonder if it’s possible to take a proverb _too_ seriously and too literally. Jealousy is an ugly word, Chris, for an ugly emotion. And why should I, why _would_ I feel it? But I did. I undeniably did.

I still do.

For a guy like me, this is a hell of a confession to make. You know better than anyone how I need to grapple with a problem, wrestle it into submission and force it to give up the answer. But right now I have no answer. Maybe you can help me to find it; I hope so.

Okay, I can see your impatient look: so, what exactly happened, Sean? Get to the point, for pity’s sake.

Elijah didn't come home after work last night. He’s fine, nothing bad happened to him, and I suppose in a way that’s only made matters worse. I thought… oh, I thought so many things, Chris, when midnight came and went and he didn’t show up. Was he injured, sick, fallen prey to some other bastard like the one outside Paddy’s bar? Had he packed up his things and taken off without telling me? 

Well, that last fear at least was easily laid to rest by a quick look in his room. It wasn’t so easy to lay the other fears to rest, because I didn’t call the police, the hospital or Mack. I went into the family room, sat down on the sofa, and stared blindly at the TV screen while I reminded myself that Elijah was an adult and entitled to a night out if he chose, that he wasn’t required to ask my permission as if I were his father or his keeper, that I wasn’t entitled to check up on him or monitor his whereabouts. I reminded myself that from the time Elijah was a child, someone outside his own family had dictated where he lived and what he did. I reminded myself of what he had risked to free himself from a life that was, to all intents and purposes, a form of slavery. 

So I sat on my hands and did nothing as the minutes ticked past. Amazing how doing nothing can be more exhausting than running ten miles on a hot summer day.

I don’t need to tell you how difficult it was for me. There was no way to reach Elijah, since he doesn’t have a cell phone (that at least will be changing). But at the same time I dreaded the phone ringing, because I couldn’t go through that hell again a second time, Chris. I simply couldn’t.

It must have been nearly dawn when I finally dozed off on the sofa with the news playing in the background. I woke to Saturday morning cartoons, a blanket draped over me, and Lizzy sitting in front of the TV with a bowl of Lucky Charms on her lap. She was dressed and her hair was neatly brushed and pinned back with her favorite ladybug clips. By this, I gathered that Elijah was home. 

Honestly? I don’t know if I was more relieved or furious. Well, you know what that’s like—every parent has moments when they’re torn between hugging and strangling their kids. Elijah might not be my kid, but the conflicting emotions I felt were pretty much the same.

I sat up and rubbed at my gritty eyes and said good morning to Elizabeth.

“Daddy, you slept on the couch,” she observed, frowning. “You didn’t have to do that. We didn’t short-sheet your bed again, I promise.”

(Despite everything, Chris, I had to chuckle at this reminder of the girls’ April Fool’s prank—masterminded I have no doubt by Mack. They were so incredibly proud of themselves to have caught me and Elijah by surprise.)

“I know you didn’t,” I said. “I fell asleep, that’s all.” I got up and kissed her on the top of the head. “Finish your cereal, sweetheart. I’m going upstairs to take a shower.”

While I showered, my feelings sorted themselves out. I was definitely more pissed at Elijah than I was relieved. But being pissed seemed counterproductive, and as I dressed and went down to the kitchen, I vowed not to make a big deal out of it. After all, the only thing that really mattered was that Elijah was home and safe. I honestly thought I had my emotions well in check, but the instant I set eyes on Elijah my frayed nerves started to unravel. He looked so calm and unconcerned as he sipped his coffee.

“Oh hey,” Elijah said, smiling as if this was simply a normal morning. “You’re up. You were out like a light when I got in.” He jumped up from the table and went to pour me some coffee. “Crashed on the couch, huh?”

“Yes,” I replied and I could hear the tightness in my voice. So could Allie. She was staring worriedly at me as I sat down.

“Daddy is something the matter?” she asked. As usual, Allie read me like a book.

“Nothing’s the matter, Allie,” I said, although it seemed less and less likely that I could keep my vow not to make a big deal out of Elijah’s absence. “I have a crick in my neck, that’s all. I’m getting too old to sleep on the sofa.”

Allie looked doubtful, but I managed a smile. Not a very convincing one, I’m afraid. 

“Dom has a rantula,” Bella piped up then, a welcome diversion before Alexandra could pursue the matter any further.

“Not a rantula, Bella,” Allie gently corrected. “A _ta_ rantula. A giant spider with hairy legs. She’s black and orange and her name is Shelob, like the spider in _The Lord of the Rings_.” She added eagerly, “Doesn’t she sound totally awesome, Daddy?”

“No giant spiders with hairy legs in this house, young lady, especially ones named Shelob,” I replied, cruising on parental autopilot, but my mind was mulling over Bella’s apparent non sequitur, and what it meant. I’m no Sherlock Holmes, but it was easy enough to deduce that Elijah had spent the night at Dom’s apartment—which, I reminded myself, was none of my business. But I can’t say I felt any less pissed off.

Elijah set my coffee in front of me. “What would you like to eat?” he asked. 

Up close, I could see that he was in fact tired after his night out. His eyelids were puffy and the right one drooped slightly, which with him is a dead giveaway. I didn’t like the image that flashed into my mind then. I told myself again that it was none of my business, but Chris, Elijah is at a uniquely vulnerable point in his life. To become involved in a relationship now, before he’s even had a chance to discover who he is, would be a monumental mistake, and can only lead to heartbreak, I fear.

“Sit down, Elijah. I can get my own breakfast,” I said. 

“I know you can, but I like cooking for you,” he replied.

Which is nothing but the truth. In fact, he’d wait on me hand and foot if I let him—which too often I _do_ let him, even though I know I shouldn’t. But I can’t put it any more plainly than that it makes him happy, Chris. At that moment, though, his happiness was not uppermost in my mind. 

“What about scrambled eggs with Gruyère cheese?” Elijah went on. “Or I could make you pecan waffles. I just found a great recipe for them.”

“Elijah, I said I can get my own breakfast. Now sit _down_ ,” I repeated. The edge had crept back into my voice. “Please.”

His face fell and he sat slowly down opposite me. Allie was staring at me, her forehead all scrunched up with a combination of puzzlement and worry. Bella, who had apparently assumed the role of Greek chorus, said in a hushed voice, “Daddy’s mad.”

“Daddy’s not mad, honey,” I said, but that was splitting hairs. I was pissed, which is close enough. “Allie, please take Bella into the family room. I need to speak to Elijah alone for a few minutes.”

“But Daddy,” began Allie, but I cut her off. 

“Alexandra, do as you’re told.” She did, reluctantly, lifting Bella out of her booster seat and carrying her out of the kitchen. Even though it was necessary, I still felt like a total shit, Chris, like exactly the sort of unjust, tyrannical father I’ve always despised, ordering rather than explaining. 

“What’s wrong, Sean?” Elijah asked when they’d gone. His expression was apprehensive. “Is it something I did?”

I took a sip of my coffee and let the soothing warmth settle in my stomach. It was incredible to me that he had no clue as to why I was upset, but obviously he didn’t. Again I felt conflicting emotions—I was relieved that he hadn’t knowingly put me through those hours of worry, but pissed and disappointed, too, because he should have realized that I _would_ be worried.

“Elijah, you didn’t come home last night,” I said, as calmly as I could manage.

God, Chris, saying those words, calmly or not, seemed so fucking wrong. Shit, I remember Dad calling me on the carpet for staying out past my curfew. But I’m not Elijah’s father. What right do I have to dictate to him? Yet if I let this pass, how many more nights would I end up spending on the couch imagining the worst? 

“Didn’t it occur to you that I might be concerned when you didn’t show up?” I went on. “Why do you think I fell asleep on the sofa? I was waiting up for you.” 

His expression morphed from apprehensive to stricken in an instant. “Oh fuck, Sean, I’m sorry,” he exclaimed so remorsefully that I almost regretted that I hadn’t let the matter slide. “God, I’m so sorry. Dom asked me if I’d like to go see a band that was playing in Bloomington. He’s talked about them before—he’s friends with a couple of guys in the band—and told me how good they are, so I said sure. I honestly thought we’d be back by 1:30, 2:00 at the latest, but we hung out with the band for a while after the gig. By the time we left it was nearly 3:00, and I didn’t think you’d appreciate it if I woke you up in the middle of the night. So I crashed for a few hours at Dom’s place and then got a cab home.”

All very rational and reasonable; yet I found myself tense and unsettled. “Regardless of the time, Elijah, I would have appreciated a phone call,” I said, and it sounded more like a reprimand than a reminder. “I was afraid that something might have happened to you.” Way to pile on the guilt, Sean, I thought, and didn’t like myself much at that moment.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated miserably. “Sean, I’m sorry. I won’t do it again, I swear. I’ll come straight home every night and…”

“No,” I interrupted, remorseful in the face of his dejection. “No,” I repeated softly. “This isn’t about you going out, Elijah. It’s about keeping me informed. Because I worry, okay? You don’t have to come straight home if there’s something you want to do with your friends. Just promise me that you’ll call. That’s all I ask. It’s not even necessary to tell me where you’re going or with whom, but I do need to know that you’re safe.” I hesitated. I didn’t want to pile more guilt on top of the load he was already carrying, but I wanted him to understand why it was necessary. “I waited for Chris to come home that day, and she never did.”

Elijah bowed his head, and picked at a piece of lint on the tablecloth. “I’m such a fucking screw up. I should have remembered that. I should have _thought_. It’s just… staying out all night is how I lived my life for so long, Sean.” He gave a sad laugh. “And there was no one to care where I was or if I ever came home.”

I felt like the screw up then and deservedly so. If Elijah had been thoughtless then so had I. Hadn’t he told me that he’d lived like a vampire, up all night, sleeping during the day? I had been too wrapped up in my own memories and the emotions they evoked to consider his. If I had, I wouldn’t have come down so hard on him.

“Well, now there _is_ someone who cares, Elijah,” I reminded him, and added with a wry attempt at humor, “It’s the price that comes with being part of a family.”

“Price?” His head shot up, and to my surprise there were tears swimming in his eyes. “It’s a gift, Sean, one I don’t deserve. But I promise you, I won’t forget again. I didn’t do it on purpose, I swear.”

“I know you didn’t.” I reached across the table and covered his hand that was still fussing at that damned bit of lint. “Now enough with the sackcloth and ashes, okay? We’ve discussed it, it’s over, we move on. And I don’t want to hear any more of that shit about not deserving things. I’ve told you before: no one is more deserving than you.” I squeezed his hand. “Understood?”

“Yeah.” 

I wish I could believe that he does understand, but his scars are still too deep, and Chris, I swear, if Dom or anyone else hurts him, gives him any more scars, I will personally escort them to hell and leave them there to burn. 

“There’s one more thing,” I said quietly. “Promise me that you’ll be careful, and that if you need me for any reason, any reason at _all_ , no matter how late it is or where you are, you’ll call. You aren’t alone anymore, Elijah.”

What happened in that alleyway on St. Patrick’s Day, Elijah on his knees, so certain that he was doomed to return to the life from which he’d run, haunts me, Chris. 

“I promise,” he whispered, and his fingers tightened almost painfully around mine for a few moments. 

“Good.” I released his hand and sat back. “You need a cell phone, though. No one in this day and age should be without one.”

“I’ve been thinking about getting one of those ‘pay as you go’ phones,” Elijah said. “I don’t have enough of a credit rating to qualify for a monthly plan.” He grimaced. “Not under my real name, that is.”

Not for the first time, it was on the tip of my tongue to ask Elijah what his name was in that other life he’s left behind. But maybe it is better that I don’t know, Chris. I don’t want to think of him as anything other than Elijah.

“Then a ‘pay as you go’ phone sounds like the perfect solution until you do,” is what I did say. “We can research them online after dinner, if you want, and pick one out.”

“That would be great,” Elijah replied, sounding brighter. 

“Then it’s a plan.” My empty stomach suddenly growled. “Is that offer of pecan waffles still good?” I asked.

“Of course!” Elijah exclaimed eagerly. He was smiling again, the shadows had fled, and I can’t tell you how relieved I was to see that smile and to have the awkward conversation over and done with. 

Only, it wasn’t quite done. At least not for me. You see, anxious to show that there were no hard feelings, I asked him to tell me about the band he’d gone to see with Dom. He hesitated to say much at first, but given how he loves music, that hesitance didn’t last long. It was abundantly clear that he’d enjoyed both the music as well as Dom’s company. 

And here is where my shameful confession has to be made. I tried, Chris, god knows I tried, to feel pleased for him. But try though I might, I couldn’t do it. It humbles me to admit that something that should have gone without question was instead a struggle, one that I ultimately lost. Like I said, jealousy is an ugly word for an ugly emotion.

And yet, writing this letter _has_ helped me gain some insight into my (to me) irrational reaction. Or as much insight as I’m capable of at this moment. 

Chris, you weren’t only my wife, you were my best friend. I never needed any other close friends because I had you. Elijah has gradually, almost without my realizing it, assumed that same place in my life. He’s become my best friend. I’ve grown to rely on him, to take for granted his presence here. 

But this is simply a way station for him on the path to a new, and hopefully better, life, isn’t it? Why shouldn’t he make new friends with people closer to his own age? People like Dom, who isn’t weighed down with the myriad responsibilities of a widowed father. If Elijah gravitates to him, prefers his company, is that any surprise? When did he ever have a chance to be, simply, young and carefree? Yet there’s a selfish part of me that wants to keep him to myself, wants to be the one to share that freedom with him, the way we did at Paddy’s before everything went to hell.

Shit. That sounds so pathetic. But I never realized until Elijah came into our lives how fantastic it is to have someone to share my day with again. Someone I can bitch to when I’m fed up with the bureaucratic nonsense at school, someone I can brag to about the girls’ accomplishments who will be as proud of them as I am. Someone who is always willing to listen, and Elijah has that rare gift, the same gift that you had, of being a good listener. Beyond that, he’s wise, Chris, with a wisdom that, to my sorrow, has been hard-won, but that increasingly guides me when I'm in need of advice. 

So what it comes down to, I suppose, is that I’m seeing the handwriting on the wall, and as it comes into focus, I’m conflicted. Elijah will take wing some day and fly away to find his own destiny, as he should. But I’ll miss him. I’ll miss him more than I can say. My Clarence. I wonder if George Bailey missed his Clarence, or if he was content in the knowledge that his angel had gotten his wings. 

I comfort myself that Elijah won’t be moving on for some time yet, even while a part of me wishes that he will never leave us. Selfish, I know, but I have no intention of acting on that selfishness. That much at least I can promise.

And now I'd best end this journey through my psyche, edifying though it was. (Yes, I'm being sarcastic, Chris.)

Elijah ordered his cell phone, by the way, and Allie’s been clamoring for a tarantula. Lizzy isn’t so sure, and I’m glad to have an ally on my side of the battle. I’m afraid Elijah won’t be much help. Perhaps now is the time to revisit the idea of getting a kitten from the local shelter. It beats the hell out of a giant hairy-legged spider, don’t you think?

My darling, writing to you _has_ helped, as I hoped it would. I began this letter with a saying, so here is one to close it: ‘To understand is to forgive, even oneself.’ I don’t recall who said it, but there’s a lot of truth in those words.

I miss you always.

Love, 

Sean


	7. Letter 7: May Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elijah takes his GED tests, necessitating an overnight trip to Bloomington for him and Sean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve never actually been to Bloomington, so my apologies for any errors in descriptions or facts. Uncle Elizabeth’s is a real place, although I don’t believe they have live music, and so I took some artistic license in having Billy’s band perform there, also his band isn’t a folk punk band except for the purposes of this story.

May 1st

My darling Chris,

Elijah and I are back from Bloomington. And yes, he survived taking his GED tests. Of course, he’s convinced that he didn’t pass, but I’m not worried. His tutor prepared him far too well for him to fail!

It was as much an emotional roller coaster as anything, and not only because it included my first visit to IU since your death. But I was afraid of the memories of you that were waiting to ambush me, and very unsure how I’d handle them. Nothing less than my concern for Elijah (he’d have gone into a meltdown from nerves if I’d sent him off on his own) could have gotten me there—but in the end, I’m grateful he gave me a reason to go back and confront our youthful past.

You know, I’d nearly forgotten how much I love B-Town. I’ve missed its almost palpable sense of energy. Perhaps to someone like Elijah, who has lived in New York, Bloomington seems small and not particularly dynamic, but not to me. To me, it’s like a breath of fresh air. I love my home town, but let’s face it, Chris, culturally it’s definitely lacking.

Well, you can probably tell by this that, in spite of my fears, I came through the experience okay. Not great, I wouldn’t say that, but okay. Having Elijah there helped. Even though I was supposed to give him moral support, he gave me as much back in return, or more, often without even realizing it.

Paradoxically, the being okay part was harder to deal with in some ways than the memories that, a few times, brought me to the verge of tears. But that’s nothing new. Survivor’s guilt - I still can’t suppress it even though my rational mind knows that healing and acceptance are inevitable, healthy and desirable.

We drove up yesterday morning. It was an uneventful drive, unless you count Elijah looking as if he was riding in a tumbrel heading for the guillotine—he didn’t even notice when I tuned the radio to a light FM station, and I lost count of the number of times I caught him surreptitiously biting his cuticles. I doubt he slept much if at all the night before, and he barely managed to choke down his breakfast—which he only ate because the girls wheedled him into it. I did my best to keep things calm and low key during the ride and talked a lot of bullshit about politics, the weather, sports, you name it. I’m pretty sure he didn’t hear a word I said (not that he was missing anything).

Elijah’s first set of tests—in Language Arts—was scheduled for 1 p.m. I timed our arrival so we’d be there early, but not too early. Waiting around would have been the absolute worst thing for Elijah. He was already convinced that he’d forgotten everything he learned over the past three months, simply because I wouldn’t allow him to study for two nights before his tests. But I know he’d have stayed up all night cramming otherwise, and he needed to give his overworked brain a respite. Chris, I’ve shepherded hundreds of students through standardized tests over the years, but Elijah might have been more nervous than any of them. My current crop of students freaking over the AP history exam next week have nothing on him. He takes things so damned hard.

There is one benefit to knowing that Elijah really does mean it when he says he’ll do anything for me: before we went into the testing center, I put a tuna salad sandwich in his hand, told him to eat it, and he did. And then Elijah chain-smoked two cigarettes, which he probably needed more than the protein from the tuna. He’s been trying hard to quit—and I’m happy to say mostly succeeding—but I could hardly blame him for having a smoke right then. Hell, I was half-tempted to join him—his nerves were starting to make me a little jumpy.

After he finished his second cigarette, we went inside. He was anxious about the stringent I.D. requirements, an understandable anxiety after living under the radar with an assumed name for so long, but there were no questions asked at the registration table when he presented his state I.D. and social security card (which reminds me that Elijah still doesn’t know how to drive—something else I need to teach him). I don’t know, and don’t ever want to know, the name he used in his other life. Elijah Jordan Wood is good enough for me—a name he can be proud of.

After he finished registering, I gave him a pep talk—or tried to, at least.

“Now I want you to go in there thinking positive, okay?” I said.

“Okay,” Elijah replied, but he sounded as if I’d asked him to scale Mount Everest blindfolded.

“Elijah, you’ll be fine,” I told him. “Just remember to pace yourself the way you’ve done during your practice tests, and don’t forget to use your stopwatch.” He nodded. “What are you going to do with any questions you can’t answer right away?” We’d been over all this a million times, but I figured a million and one times wouldn’t hurt.

“Leave them until the end and then go back to them,” he parroted obediently.

“And then?”

“Make my best guess if I still can’t figure them out.”

“Good. Remember, a guess can be correct, but if you don’t answer at all, you have no chance of getting it right. Don’t leave any questions unanswered.”

“I won’t.” He swallowed hard. “Sean, I’m so fucking scared,” he blurted out.

As if I couldn’t tell. He was white as chalk. I pulled him into my arms and gave him a reassuring hug. “There’s no reason to be,” I said. “I wouldn’t have suggested that you take the tests now if I didn’t think you were ready.”

“But what if I fail?” He said into my shoulder. “I don’t want to be a disappointment to you.”

Bingo. Of course, I should have realized the primary cause of Elijah’s worry would be me—or rather his fear of letting me down—and for a moment I questioned whether this had been a wise idea, if I’d been selfish to push him when his sense of self worth seems so dependent on my approval. But when I recalled how truly engaged he was by his studies, how he soaked up information like a sponge and asked me question after question, I set aside any doubt. You can’t fake that kind of interest and enthusiasm. I’m a teacher—I know. And Elijah needs this validation, Chris. It will make all the difference in the world to his confidence and bolster his belief in himself.

But at that moment, I don’t think Elijah had much of either confidence or belief in himself. It was up to me to supply it.

“Win, lose or draw, Elijah,” I told him as firmly as I could, “you will never be a disappointment to me.” I lifted his chin with my fingers and gave him my mock-lowered-brows stern look. “Now c’mon, put a smile on your face and go in there and kick that test’s ass. That’s an order.”

“I’ll try.” He managed a smile—a sickly one—and I hugged him one more time for good measure. That’s when I noticed someone watching us—a woman in line by the registration table. It was Laura Sandberg from the English department. I suppose she was there with one or more of her GED students—she tutors adults on the side. The disapproving look on her face would have curdled milk, Chris.

It took me a few seconds to figure out why she wore such a sour expression, and then I was simply disgusted by her narrow-mindedness, as if there could possibly be anything wrong with two guys hugging. I can’t say I was overly surprised by her reaction, though. As you know, I’ve been forced to listen to more than a few homophobic comments from her in the staff lounge over the years. But I just offered a friendly, if somewhat ironic, smile when she saw I’d caught her watching, and her mouth tightened and she turned away. I’d like to think it was because she was ashamed, but sadly I doubt it. It’s useless to deny that there’s an undercurrent of intolerance in this town. Not universal, thankfully, but it’s there. Sometimes I’m tempted to shake my fist and rail against it, but it’s always best to lead by example and I hope I’ve done that both as a teacher and parent. It was hard, though, to see that intolerance directed at Elijah, who has been through so much.

Elijah headed off for his classroom, and I gave him two thumbs up when he turned to look at me one last time before disappearing down the hall. I couldn’t help feeling a little like I’d abandoned a hapless lamb to the slaughter. But there was nothing more I could do. It was all up to Elijah from that point on, and I had—I have—faith in him. He’s capable of so much more than he realizes.

I’d booked us a room for the night at the Crowne Plaza, so I headed over there, checked in and had a bite to eat (your mother had packed drinks and snacks for us in the apparent conviction that we were heading off to some remote wilderness area for a period of months, rather than simply driving up 37 to Bloomington, two hours away). I didn’t linger, though. While Elijah was taking his tests, I had a pilgrimage to make. You know to where.

IU hasn’t changed—only I have. I was filled with a painful nostalgia as I walked across campus in company with the students—so young, so eager, so fresh-faced and full of hope for the future. I sat by Showalter Fountain for a while, recalling all the earnest conversations we had there about how we were going to make a difference in the world when we got out of school. And I like to think I have made a difference, Chris, even if not on the grand scale I once envisioned. Teaching is a sacred profession, and if students leave my classes understanding the importance of critical thinking, of questioning authority when necessary, of using the lessons of history to make this a better world—then I’ve accomplished more real good than I ever could have if I’d gone into politics as I once planned.

It took a while to nerve myself to go into Lilly Library. A strange reluctance you might say for someone who always claimed it was his favorite building on campus, and even after graduation welcomed any excuse to visit there. But that was before you died, and it became the haunt of youthful ghosts and bittersweet memories.

I went straight to the reading room and stood in the exact spot where I first set eyes on you. For a moment I could see you so clearly, Chris: sitting at a table by the window, with your head bent over a book and your hair falling around you like a silk curtain. The sun was behind you, and created a golden halo around your head. A part of me wonders now if that was no coincidence, if I was being given a glimpse of a future in which you would truly become an angel to me and to our children. But if it was a premonition, if I’d known then the cost of introducing myself to you and asking you to marry me—half in jest, half in total seriousness—I would still have gone to that table and sat down beside you.

I stood there so long that someone asked me if I was all right. I said yes, although I was barely holding tears at bay, and went and sat down in your seat. But it wasn’t of us I was thinking as I sat there with the sun warm on my back, it was Elijah. What if he’d been given the same opportunities that we were, Chris? What if he’d had a loving, supportive family, too? Where would he be now? What would he be doing? Something extraordinary, I feel certain.

But he didn’t have them, my Clarence, and how can I mourn a past in which I had every advantage, while Elijah is struggling to overcome a lifetime of abandonment and abuse? Surely I can muster a fraction of the strength and resolve he’s shown. There - didn’t I tell you that without even knowing it, he was giving me moral support? As I sit here in our quiet bedroom writing this letter to you, I can think of our first meeting with gratitude for the gift I was given in you, not resentment or anger for having it taken from me too soon.

I didn’t stay long in the library, though, figuring I’d tested my limits as much as I should for one day. Instead I hit up the IU gift shop and picked out a few little things for the girls (I’m determined they’ll be Hoosiers as we planned) and then stopped by Ballantine Hall and visited with John Bodnar for a while - I was lucky to catch him between classes. We talked politics, and god, it was amazing to engage in a truly thought-provoking, challenging discussion with a brilliant mind like his. By the way, he told me that there might be an opening in the history department next year, Chris, a tenure-track position. I can’t deny there’s a part of me that wishes I could apply for it, even though I know it’s not possible.

I got back to the testing center early, but I had a lot to chew over from my discussion with John, and the wait was not unenjoyable. Elijah came out about half an hour later and I couldn’t immediately tell from his expression if he was okay or not. He appeared to be in one piece, at least, which was something.

“So how’d it go?” I asked him. He looked at me so funny that I thought something bad must have happened, and my heart sank. “Elijah, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he said with a lopsided smile. “That’s the problem. I felt like I knew almost all of the answers. I only had to guess on a couple of them.” He frowned. “I’m sure that can’t be a good sign.”

I laughed. Only Elijah would fret over knowing the answers. “I’m sure it can. Didn’t I tell you that you were ready?”

“Yeah, but I still have four hours of science, math and social studies ahead of me.”

“About which you are forbidden to think until tomorrow at 1 o’clock. Right now, I want you to think about what you’ve accomplished today and feel good about yourself.” I took him by the elbow and steered him toward the car. “What about your essay question? How’d that go?” If Elijah had been dreading any one part of the test more than another, it was the essay question.

Elijah stopped and gave about the saddest laugh I’ve ever heard. “Okay, I guess, but you’ll never believe what my question was: ‘If you could change one thing about your childhood, what would it be?’” He laughed again, bitterly this time. “Fucking ironic, huh?”

Fucking ironic was one way to put it, although fucking unfair was the first phrase that came to my mind. As if Elijah didn’t already have enough to cope with just writing the essay, the luck of the draw landed him with a question that dredged up god knows what kind of terrible memories.

“What did you say?” I asked him. It was a kick in the ass he didn’t deserve, but Elijah is strong, and I was confident that he had risen to the challenge.

“That if I could change one thing, it would be that my mom finally kicked her habit and got off crack for good.” He scrubbed at his eyes with the heels of hands. “It was fucking hard to write about at first, let me tell you, but I did like we practiced, Sean. I made an outline with that as my thesis statement and then I wrote four paragraphs describing what that change would’ve meant to my life.”

I was right, Chris - he had, and the tears that had been threatening for hours finally fought free. “I‘m incredibly, incredibly proud of you, Elijah.”

“I’m not sure I spelled everything right, though,” he confessed. “I’ll never be a great speller, Sean.”

“If they can read your essay and care about that then screw them,” I said, and hugged him. I wouldn’t have cared if Laura Sandberg and a hundred others like her were standing right there glaring at me.

“Fuck, I’m sorry.I didn’t mean to make you cry,” Elijah said.

“Don’t be; you know I cry at the drop of a hat.” I kept walking, and when we reached the car, I deliberately changed the subject. I was determined that we were going to have a pleasant, relaxing evening out with no tears, no stress, and no drama. Elijah had earned it. “So, how does pizza sound for dinner?”

“It sounds fantastic. I’m starving, actually. All that concentrating is hard work.” I laughed at that. Elijah’s right, of course. Concentrating is hard work. “Can we go to Mother Bear’s?” Elijah asked eagerly. “Dom was telling me they have the best pizza in the mid-west.”

I had to smile at Elijah’s enthusiasm. He has a thing for pizza, and our local Pizza Hut doesn’t meet his exacting standards. “Mid-west?” I said with mock indignation. “I’ll have you know that they were voted among the top nine pizza places in the entire U.S. And of course we’re going there. As far as I’m concerned, there’s only one pizza place in B-Town.”

We stopped by the hotel to freshen up first. I had a quick shower and shave, and when I came out of the bathroom with just a towel around my waist, Elijah seemed uncomfortable. It’s not that he hasn’t seen the same thing a few times at home, but I realize now that I should have been more sensitive to his past, especially to what happened on his last night in New York. I know he trusts me, but our reactions aren’t always governed by rational thought, are they? Being alone in a hotel room with a man, even me, probably triggered some bad memories for him. He barely looked at me as he sidled past to get into the bathroom. I debated saying something when he came out, but decided against it. I don’t think he would have liked me to draw attention to his discomfort.

Allie had made me promise faithfully to ‘look nice, Daddy’ if Elijah and I went out, and so I’d packed the sweater she got me for my birthday and a pair of chinos, and put them on. But I wasn’t the only one who must have made the same promise to our fashion tyrant daughter. Elijah also made an effort and I was...taken aback, I suppose is the best way to describe it, when he emerged from the bathroom.

I’m accustomed to seeing him in jeans and a tee shirt or his uniform from the restaurant. But he’d changed into tight-fitting black pants and an equally tight-fitting gray turtleneck with rufflely things down the center and long sleeves that almost covered his hands. He’d put a small silver hoop in his left ear, and he was wearing several silver rings. It wasn’t so much the clothes that took me aback, though, it was the change in Elijah’s demeanor - a subtle change, but noticeable to me. He was carrying himself with more self-confidence than I’d ever seen.

I felt I was being given a small glimpse of the person Elijah had been before, and it unsettled me, if I’m going to be perfectly honest. Elijah is beautiful, Chris. Astonishingly so. I don’t think I’d fully appreciated it until that moment. He’s like a bird of paradise in a flock of sparrows here, and I more than ever wonder at the twist of fate that brought him into our lives.

“I like that shirt. It’s unusual, and it suits you,” I said. I felt that I had to say something or else stand there staring like an idiot at this new, different Elijah. It was an odd moment, Chris.

“It’s an Alexander McQueen,” Elijah said, holding out his arms and turning in a circle. “I found it in a thrift shop for fifteen bucks - can you believe it? Retail this shirt would’ve sold for around $800.” He shook his head in amazement.

“If I knew who Alexander McCall was, I’m sure I’d be impressed,” I joked.

“Not McCall, McQueen,” Elijah corrected me, obviously struggling not to laugh. “He’s one of the top fashion designers in the world, Sean.”

“Oh right.” I slapped my forehead. “I was mixing him up with Alexander McCall Smith - he writes mystery novels.”

Elijah broke down then and giggled at my (understandable, in my opinion) mistake. But I didn’t mind. How could I? I treasure every one of Elijah’s giggles, for they are still too few and far between. After our last disastrous outing together on St. Patrick’s Day, I wanted this one to be a success, and it seemed we were off to a good start if Elijah was laughing.

You’ll be glad to know that Mother Bear’s is another place that hasn’t changed, Chris—it’s still busy as hell and smells like heaven. Elijah’s eyes lit up when he examined the menu, and to say he had difficulty deciding which pizza to order is an understatement.

“What are you getting?” he finally asked, the last defense of those unable to choose.

“Spinoccoli. Dreadful name, but amazing pizza. I always order it.” At his questioning expression I said, “Chris and I used to come here a lot when we were in college, and most times we visited Bloomington after graduation we’d stop in for lunch or dinner.”

He looked suddenly downcast and said, “I didn’t realize... Would you rather go somewhere else?” He half-closed his menu as if preparing to leave.

“No, I don’t want to go somewhere else. I’m all right, Elijah, honestly.” And I was. I’d confronted the most painful of your ghosts in the library, and I could recall the times we’d eaten at Mother Bear’s and be glad for the laughter and good times we shared.

“You’re sure?” I could see him waffling between wanting to believe me and not being sure if he should.

“Like I said before, as far as I’m concerned, there’s only one pizza place in B-Town. Now come on - our waitress will be arriving to take our order any minute and you still haven’t decided what to get.”

After hemming and hawing and changing his mind about a half-dozen times, Elijah finally settled on the Dixie Two-Step - and I decided under the circumstances that it was better not to tell Elijah that it had been your favorite, too. Our waitress appeared and we placed our order, and Elijah sat back and looked around him curiously. The booths were filled with the usual motley assortment of IU students, faculty members and locals. Elijah could have fit right in with the college kids; he’s far closer to their age than mine. And that gave me an idea - or rather, reinforced an idea I’ve been pondering ever since I started tutoring Elijah and discovered how exceptionally bright he is.

“You should think about going to college at IU,” I said. “You wouldn’t be able to apply for this fall’s semester - it’s too late - but you could start next January. You’d qualify for financial aid, and I can help you with the applications. I’ve helped a lot of my students go through the process.”

I was disappointed when Elijah looked less than enthused by the idea. “I don’t see the point, Sean. What would I do with a college degree anyway?”

“Anything that you want. It can open so many doors for you, Elijah. Wouldn’t you like to have a real career? I don’t mean to disrespect your job at the restaurant, believe me. It’s hard,

demanding work that you do well. But you may not want to wait tables forever. IU has one of the best music departments in the country, you know. Maybe you can pursue a career in the music industry - combine your avocation with your vocation. It’s certainly worth considering.”

Elijah bent his head and stared at his place mat with the map of Italy, while I wondered what was going through his mind. I hoped he wasn’t pissed at me for coming on so strong. You know I can be rather like the proverbial bull in the china shop when it comes to the importance of a college education.

But he only said quietly, after a minute or so, “All I want, all I’ve ever wanted, is to have someone to love. Someone to take care of.” He gave a low laugh. “You know, like one of the women on those TV shows I used to watch—cooking and cleaning and taking care of the kids, being there when her husband gets home from work. That would be career enough for me.”

“Surely you’re not serious,” I protested, half-laughing.

“Yeah, I am,” he said, and I could see the truth in his eyes when he looked up. He was deadly serious.

“Well, just think of all the guys you could meet if you went to IU,” I said. “You couldn’t ask for a better place to find someone to love. I should know - it’s where I found Chris.”

Then he gave me what I’ve come to think of as his ‘Mona Lisa’ smile; I’m never quite sure what it means. But it makes me feel that I’m missing something: some essential element of Elijah that I haven’t quite fathomed yet.

“I’m in no hurry,” he said. “And besides, if I enrolled at IU, I’d have to leave - move to Bloomington.” Almost as if to himself he added, “I’d hate that.”

That realization hadn’t escaped me, of course. But how selfish would it be to dissuade Elijah from pursuing a college degree simply because the girls and I would miss him?

“It would only be for a few years, and you could come home on breaks and during the summer. IU has a very active gay student population, Elijah. I think you could be happy here.”

Maybe my words lacked conviction and Elijah sensed it, or maybe he was simply frustrated with me. Like I said, bull in a china shop. “Sean, I haven’t even finished taking my GED tests yet, much less passed them. All this talk about college... it’s too much. Thinking about tomorrow is almost more than I can handle at the moment.”

“Shit. You’re right.” I covered his hand with mine and gave it an apologetic squeeze. “I’m harassing you and I shouldn’t be. Tell me to shut up if I start in again, okay?”

“You’re not harassing me. It’s just...” But the waitress arrived with our beers, and he never finished the sentence.

She started to set the glasses down then hesitated. “Oh sorry - I didn’t mean to interrupt you.” Her eyes were on my hand, still holding Elijah’s. I realized that she must think Elijah and I were a couple. Well, why wouldn’t she? Probably a third of the tables at Mother Bear’s were occupied by gay or lesbian couples, if not more. To be honest, it didn’t bother me. But Elijah snatched his hand away as if it were on fire and said, “You’re not interrupting.” His cheeks were on fire - I’ve never seen them so bright a pink.

“Fuck. Fuck,” Elijah said when she was gone. “Sean, god, I’m so sorry.”

“Why? It was a natural enough conclusion, and besides, I’m kind of flattered that she’d think you’d be interested in an old fogey like me.” And I was flattered, Chris. It hadn’t escaped my notice how many heads turned to look at Elijah when we walked into the restaurant. He hadn’t seemed to notice, but then he must be used to it.

Elijah stared at me in disbelief. “Old fogey?” He shook his head and smiled, but it was a crooked smile. “I wish you could see yourself through my eyes. You’d never call yourself that.”

Well, I was the one blushing then, although I’m sure Elijah was only trying to boost my ego. Let’s face it, I’m not exactly movie star material, even if I am a good deal trimmer than I was when Elijah met me.

“Sean,” he went on, fidgeting with the place mat, “maybe it’s not such a good idea for us to go see Billy’s band tonight.”

“Why not? I’ve been looking forward to hearing them and to meeting Billy.” Which was true. Ever since Elijah had hesitantly proposed the idea, I had been, and not simply because he said they make good music. I was curious about Billy, although admittedly my protectiveness of Elijah was the main reason. The fact that Billy is Dom’s boyfriend isn’t necessarily a recommendation in my eyes. I question whether my relationship with Dom will ever be less than uneasy. He has this way of looking at me, Chris, as if he’s judging me and finding me lacking, and I can’t say I care for it. I had been frankly relieved when Elijah told me that Dom would be working that evening and unable to join us.

“Uncle Elizabeth’s is a gay bar. People there will assume we’re together - like our waitress does. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable or embarrassed.” Elijah was tearing at the edge of the place mat, peeling off tiny slivers of paper. It reminded me of our first meeting in St. Cecelia’s, and how he’d shredded the Kleenex I gave him.

“Elijah, you’re making this into more of an issue than it needs to be,” I said calmly. “If it happens, it’s no big deal. I’m a big boy. I can handle it.”

“No big deal,” he repeated quietly. “No... no, of course not. You’re right.” He smiled at me, but there was something about it that tore at me as he was tearing at the place mat; I’m not sure why. When I’m with Elijah, I am sometimes put in mind of what Churchill said about Russia: a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.

But the arrival of our pizza turned Elijah’s attention to his Dixie Two-Step, and I’m happy to say that the rest of our meal contained not even a smidgen of drama. The Spinoccoli was delicious as ever, although I got as much enjoyment out of watching Elijah eating his pizza as I did out of eating my own. Since I was determined to keep Elijah’s mind off his tests, and my foot out of my mouth, I brought up the one subject guaranteed to distract him. Music.

Did you know that B-Town is a mecca for folk punk bands? Neither did I, but it is, and I heard all about bands like The Fray and Ghost Mice, and others I can’t recall the names of. And of course, I heard about Beecake, Billy’s band - the band members are from Glasgow originally, and Elijah warned me that their Glaswegian accents can be difficult to understand.

He was right about that - but there, I get ahead of myself.

When we were done eating, Elijah insisted on picking up the check for dinner. I didn’t fight him, because I’ve learned to recognize a certain stubborn tilt of his chin when he’s bound and determined to get his way; it’s very similar to yours, as a matter of fact.

“That was brilliant, Sean,” he said as we left the restaurant. “Thanks.”

“I should be thanking you, not the other way around.”

“No, you took time off school to bring me here, and then there’s all the hours you spent tutoring me - I could never have done it on my own. If I end up passing, it’ll be entirely due to you.”

“You mean when you end up passing,” I corrected him. “And I’m not the one who’s taking the tests. You are.” It looked like he was prepared to argue the point, so I resorted to a diversion and pulled out my cell phone. “I better call the girls before we head over to the bar. It’ll be their bedtime soon.”

Bella was already asleep, but Allie and Lizzy were up, and they wanted to hear all about our day, and especially about Elijah’s test. Between us, Elijah and I pretty well covered the bases, passing the phone back and forth. It reminded me of the old days - not that you and I got away alone together very often, but I remember that, no matter how badly we’d needed a break, the sound of their voices made me realize how much I missed them.

Uncle Elizabeth’s is on 3rd Street, in a strip mall. It’s not an area of B-Town we ever explored, Chris, as it’s nowhere near campus, but from the difficulty I had finding a parking space it was immediately apparent that the bar does a booming business even if it is off the beaten path. The lot was jam-packed and I had to hunt for a parking space on the street.

“Elijah, we can’t stay too late,” I cautioned when I finally squeezed the van into a spot that left me about an inch of room on either end. “You need to get a good night’s sleep. And I’m afraid your tutor will only allow you one more beer.”

“You’re such a mother hen,” Elijah joked, and that in and of itself was something of a novelty - Elijah teasing me. It felt good. You used to say the same thing to me, remember? ‘Sean you are such a mother hen’. I guess that accounts for what almost happened next: as we were crossing the street, I started to put my arm around Elijah, the way I would have done if you were with me. Thankfully, I caught myself in time; I can just imagine what Elijah would have thought.

Elijah was carded at the entrance, no great surprise, and I seized the opportunity to pay the cover charge before Elijah could insist. We both got our hands stamped and then went into the bar, which was as crowded as the parking lot, and plenty hot and noisy - your typical bar, although what I was expecting, I couldn’t say. It’s not a large place, and I had my doubts if we’d find somewhere to sit, but Elijah threaded his way toward the back and miracle of miracles, scored a small table within spitting distance of the stage, which was off to one corner and looked as if it could barely accommodate even a modest sized band - the drum set took up about half of it.

I sat down and had a look around. Perhaps the clientele wasn’t as cosmopolitan as it would be in a big city like New York, but most of the men present looked a far cry from the baseball cap and flannel shirt crowd you’d find at Paddy’s. But then Paddy’s doesn’t really cater to singles - it’s where the married guys go to watch the ball game and shoot some pool. That was definitely not the case at Uncle Elizabeth’s. There were plenty of guys in jeans, although the order of the evening seemed to be sleeveless tees that showed off impressive physiques and elaborate tattoos, but there were a few others, like Elijah, who might have graced the pages of a fashion magazine. Though none, in my opinion, who came close to Elijah.

Elijah didn’t sit down, but pulled back the cuff of his sleeve and checked his watch. “Billy and the guys should be on in about twenty minutes,” he said. “Guard this table with your life, Sean. I’ll go get our beers.” And he took off.

As at Mother Bear’s, there were quite a few pairs of eyes following Elijah as he pushed through the crowd; all of them this time were male, I observed. It wasn’t that he consciously called attention to himself, but Elijah moved with an easy grace and assurance that showed this was clearly a milieu in which he was comfortable.

Perhaps it was the protective mother hen in me emerging again, Chris, or continued fallout from the events of St. Patrick’s Day, but I was aware of a tension inside myself as I watched Elijah at the bar placing our order. I felt a sudden impulse to go after him, though why it seemed necessary, or what I hoped to accomplish I can’t say. Elijah appeared to be perfectly at ease, chatting with the bartender and some guys at the bar who were no doubt long time patrons whom he’d met on his previous visits with Dom. He didn’t need me running interference this time.

At any rate, before I could give in to the impulse, and lose the table I was supposed to be guarding, I heard someone say, “You look kinda lonely sitting there by yourself. Mind if I join you?” and a man slid into the empty chair. He was a big guy, good looking in a craggy kind of way, with buzz-cut dark hair and he was wearing a white muscle tee under an unbuttoned dress shirt. I was too startled to say anything - I’d foolishly assumed I’d simply be an observer, not an active participant in the evening, and never in a million years had I imagined anyone would try to hit on me. It was strange to realize that Elijah wasn’t the only one who had attracted some notice. Are you smiling? Somehow I think you are. Well, it was kind of funny - at first.

“You must be new here,” he went on. “I don’t remember seeing you before. I’m Gary.” He held out his hand.

“Sean,” I said. We shook hands, and he didn’t let go of mine immediately. There was no doubt about it, Chris: I was definitely being hit on. Talk about your awkward situations. For the first time in my life, I truly understood what it must be like for a woman to be hit on when she’s not interested. It was a salutary lesson, one I won’t soon forget.

“Can I buy you a drink, Sean?” Gary asked, but before I could say ‘thanks but no thanks’, two beers hit the tabletop in front of me hard enough to rattle it and white foam splattered on the varnished wood.

“Sean already has a drink,” a voice said.

It was Elijah. He stood close to my side, so close that the sharp point of his hip bone pressed into my upper arm. Very deliberately, he set one hand on my shoulder - a gesture that practically shouted ‘He’s mine - so fuck off’. Which is the moment when things stopped being even remotely funny. Elijah’s fingers dug into my shoulder so hard they literally left bruises - I can feel them now if I shrug it. I looked up at him, and although he had a pleasant enough smile on his face, there was nothing pleasant about the expression in his eyes - they glittered like shards of blue ice, and I wouldn’t have wanted to be the one on the receiving end of that stare, that’s for damn sure.

“You’re occupying my seat, darling,” Elijah said, and the soft-voiced endearment sounded anything but endearing; it was the spit of a wildcat ready to strike. “So get the fuck up.”

Gary didn’t look like he was prepared to give up his seat, and I worried that there might be another fight, a repeat of St. Patrick’s Day only with me as the bone of contention this time. God alone knew what Elijah would do, because this was not an Elijah I had ever seen before, this fierce, almost feral creature who was facing down a guy twice his size.

I was unsure if it would make matters worse if I interfered, but I was on edge, ready jump into the fray if necessary - no way in hell was anyone laying so much as a finger on Elijah. But then Gary slowly got up from the chair. He held his hands palm outward with his fingers spread - a conciliatory gesture - and I relaxed.

“No problem, man. Didn’t know the real estate was already claimed. He’s all yours.” He melted away into the crowd.

Elijah was trembling violently with reaction. He was so close to me that I could feel the tremors running through him. I put my hand over his - it was cold as ice. “It’s okay. It’s okay,” I repeated over and over, but I don’t know if he heard me. His eyes were fixed on the spot where Gary had disappeared. Then the tension drained out of him and he looked down at me and his eyes - oh Chris, his eyes. I had hoped never to see that weary, almost defeated look in them again - the boxer up against the ropes.

He said so quietly that I almost couldn’t hear him over the din, “Sean, we should leave. I was right - coming here was a huge mistake.”

“If you really want to leave, we will, but Elijah, I think we should talk this out first.” I lifted his hand to my lips and kissed it, as he had once done to mine. “Please, sit down.” I wasn’t sure if he heard that either; he was staring at the back of his hand as if mesmerized. Then he gave himself a little shake and sat in the chair Gary had given up to him.

I pushed a beer across the table. “Drink up. You can use it.”

But he didn’t, only cupped his hands around the glass, as if they weren’t cold enough.

I knew what was coming next: an apology. And I couldn’t bear to hear him say ‘I’m sorry’ again, as if what had happened was somehow his fault. I wished I could make a joke of it, but like I said, he takes things so damn hard. “Elijah, there’s honestly no reason to be upset on my account. Getting hit on is just one of those things that happens when you go to a bar. It’s happened to me before, and it’ll probably happen again.”

“But this is a gay bar.”

I shrugged. “Gay or straight, what does it matter?”

“It matters because I didn’t want this to touch you,” he said in a painful whisper.

“You didn’t want what to touch me?” I asked, and I was genuinely confused.

“The fact that I’m a queer.” God, Chris, he sounded so bitter.

“Elijah, have I ever given you reason to believe your sexual orientation is an issue for me? That I think any less of you because you’re gay? Because if I have, even inadvertently...”

“No, never!” Elijah said almost passionately. “But you - you’re special, Sean. You don’t deserve to have some fucking dickhead try to pick you up in a place like this. And it wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for me dragging you here.” His throat worked and he was holding the glass so tightly that I was afraid it might shatter.

I was floundering, I admit it. Elijah’s distress seemed disproportionate to what had happened, and as for the way he constantly puts me on a pedestal... Well, I’ve told you this before - it worries me, because I am a very flawed man and I fear the consequences when I inevitably fall off that pedestal.

Before I could come up with any response, much less the right one, he said so softly that I had to strain to hear him, “Sometimes I wish I were a woman. Then maybe... maybe things would be different.”

“Elijah, look at me.” He did, but reluctantly. “Now I’m the one who wishes that you could see yourself through my eyes, because you’d never say that.” I held his gaze. “The man who is lucky enough to earn your love and loyalty will count his blessings every day of his life.”

I meant it, Chris. Elijah has such an immense capacity for love; I see it every day in how he is with our daughters.

Elijah flushed. “It’s never going to happen,” he said, “but that you’d even think it’s possible, given what I am...”

“What you were,” I interjected, “and of course it will happen.”

That made Elijah laugh, a genuine, if reluctant, laugh. His grip on the glass relaxed, and something shifted in his eyes; the weary resignation left them. “You never give up, do you?” he said, shaking his head.

“Nope, never. I’m a stubborn bastard.” I smiled at him. “So, how about we stay. It’d be a shame to leave without hearing Billy’s band.”

“You’re right, it would be,” Elijah agreed.

I picked up my beer glass and held it out. “Here’s to stubborn bastards everywhere,” I said, and Elijah raised his glass and we clinked them together.

The curtain behind the stage was pulled back a few minutes later, and four guys came out on the stage - the members of Billy’s band. There were some random whistles and claps from the crowd, and one of the guys, a little guy not much bigger than Elijah, but with receding sandy hair and sharp features, waved at Elijah as he picked up a guitar. “Elijah, good to see you, man,” he said in a decided Scots accent.

Elijah waved backed. “Hey Billy.” He turned to me and said with enthusiasm, “Billy’s a great guy, Sean. You’ll like him, I know.”

Well, I reserved judgment for the moment. I guess I am overprotective, but given Elijah’s past, there’s good reason to be. I don’t ever want to see him be used again and hurt the way he has been.

I don’t know if folk punk will ever be my thing, but the music was energetic, at least, and Elijah clearly loved it, which was the important thing. It definitely took his mind off what had happened with Gary, as well as his tests the next day. You know, I’ve never been around anyone who can lose himself in music the way Elijah does, as if it’s food and drink to his very soul. But then, I imagine music must have been pretty much his only escape from the harsh realities surrounding him for most of his life.

After the performance we hung around until the band was done selling CDs and tee shirts in the foyer, so Elijah could introduce me to Billy. I was getting antsy to leave, thinking about those four hours tomorrow when Elijah would need to be clear-headed and able to concentrate, but I couldn't let him down, and there's little enough he ever asks of me.

“Billy, this is Sean,” he said by way of introduction. Simple enough words, but Chris, I wish you could have heard the way he said them, as if I was, I don’t know, the President or the Pope or Nelson Mandela. I can’t deny it warmed me inside to hear the pride in Elijah's voice, even though I know I’m not even remotely worthy of it.

“Ah, so you’re Sean. I’ve heard a lot about you and your daughters,” Billy said as we shook hands, and there was a speculative look in his eyes. I wondered what Dom had told him about me. Nothing positive, I’m willing to bet.

We didn’t talk for long. I complimented him on the band’s performance, he asked about the girls, and that was about it. But in truth, I did like Billy, when I could understand him, that is - his Glaswegian accent was, as Elijah had warned me, difficult to understand sometimes. There’s an innate gentleness about Billy and a thoughtfulness that leads me to believe he can be trusted. Whatever Dom might have told him, I have a feeling he makes his own opinions and isn’t easily swayed by others. And I think he can be a good friend to Elijah. I invited him to the Memorial Day barbecue (which I’ve decided to revive this year) and he’s tentatively accepted. I’ll be glad of a chance to get to know him better.

It was nearly eleven o’clock by the time we got back to our hotel, and Elijah was definitely dragging, although he was trying not to let me see it. He got the bathroom first, and came out wearing those old red plaid pajamas of mine that he loves so much. Chameleon-like he’d transformed from the trendily dressed young man back into the Elijah I’m more used to seeing, and I confess it was somewhat of a relief. He’s beautiful, that other Elijah, but he’s not my Elijah, Chris.

I took my turn in the bathroom and in deference to Elijah’s earlier uneasiness, left on my undershirt. I hadn’t considered the sleeping arrangements when I made our reservation, but the two double beds turned out to be a blessing in disguise, given the situation. I’m still unused to sleeping alone; hardly a night goes by that I don’t unconsciously reach out for you, Chris, and I’ve no doubt I’d have scared the shit out of poor Elijah in the middle of the night if I had.

Elijah was already in his bed when I returned, and I picked up the remote for the TV and asked, “Is it okay if I watch CNN for a little while? It’s a habit I’ve gotten into since Chris died. Helps me to fall asleep.”

“Yeah, of course,” Elijah said, and his eyes were sympathetic. He understands, none better.

“Thanks. I’ll keep the volume down.” I turned the TV on, found CNN and then got into bed. “Lights out?” I asked, and he nodded, and I reached for the switch to the wall lights between our beds. “Good night, Elijah,” I said, as the room went dark.

“Night, Sean,” he replied quietly, and I could hear the rustle of the sheets as he settled down.

I was pretty beat myself after such a long and emotionally taxing day, but my brain was still buzzing. I glanced over at Elijah and in the bluish light of the TV screen I could see that his eyes were closed. Good, I thought. He needs the rest. I tried to focus on the TV and the Headline News segment, but my eyes kept returning to Elijah, while the events of the evening played over in my mind. I worry about him, Chris. I worry about him so much. No one knows better than I do that we can’t keep those we love from harm, no matter how hard we try, but if I could, I’d make certain that he never experiences another moment of loneliness or sorrow or uncertainty again.

I must have dozed off at some point, because I don’t recall anything else until I suddenly woke up, jolting awake the way I do when I sense that one of the girls needs me. I’d been dreaming about something, but I didn’t have the ache in my chest and that leaden sensation that comes in the wake of my nightmares about your accident. I was groggy and disoriented, though, and it took me a few seconds to realize where I was and that the girls were miles away at home with your parents. It was very early, barely dawn to judge by the gray light that showed through the gap in the curtains; the TV was off; and Elijah was watching me.

He was turned onto his side facing me, his head pillowed on his arm, and his eyes, shadowed but faintly gleaming, were fixed on my face. I suppose it was the intensity of his gaze that woke me, for it was that intense - so focused that I could almost feel it like a physical touch.

“Elijah? Is everything all right?” I asked. I glanced at the alarm clock - it was 6:15. No unusual hour for me to be awake as you know (although I admit I was welcoming a rare chance to sleep in a little), but it was definitely early for Elijah.

“Everything’s fine. I... woke up early, that’s all.”

He seemed embarrassed to have been caught staring, and a thought occurred to me, remembering a few occasions when you woke me with a poke in the ribs and an exasperated, ‘Sean, wake up! You’re snoring’.

“God, I wasn’t snoring, was I?” I said apologetically.

Elijah shook his head. “No - I just couldn’t sleep.”

I rolled onto my side to face him. “You want to talk about it?” I asked, hoping that he wasn’t flashing back to the sick bastard who had hurt him.

But he only shook his head again and I searched his face for any sign of fear or uneasiness, but there was none that I could discover. He looked, in fact, amazingly peaceful and content, and that warmed my heart. Having his trust is so important to me, Chris.

“You were smiling in your sleep,” he said softly.

“I was?”

“Yeah. You must have been having a happy dream.” He sounded rather wistful, but then I suppose happy dreams are as rare for him as they have been for me since you died.

“To be honest, I can’t remember. I know I was dreaming, but not what the dream was about. I’m glad it was a good one, though.” I sat up, yawned and stretched my arms over my head and rolled my neck to get out the kinks, listening to the pops and cracks. Getting old sucks, let me tell you. “Well, since we’re both awake, we might as well get up.” Elijah was wearing a very peculiar expression, so I added, “Unless you’d like to go back to sleep for a while?”

“No, I couldn’t fall asleep now.” He smiled and sat up, too. “I’m ready to get up.”

We checked out of the hotel and had breakfast at the Waffle House. I was relieved to see that Elijah had a good appetite; he seemed far less nervous than he was yesterday, but I suppose having gone through the experience of taking the tests once, he knew what to expect and the fear of the unknown was no longer a factor. But whatever the reason, he demolished a stack of pancakes that no one his size should ever have been able to finish. How I envy Elijah his metabolism. I set my diet back at least a month between the pizza last night and the waffles I had for breakfast. I’ll be hitting the road hard this week, believe me. I’m determined not to fall back into the bad habits of the past months.

After we ate, since we still had several hours to kill, I took Elijah on a tour of the campus. I haven’t given up on the college idea, Chris, but I was good, and didn’t bring it up even once during our walk. I decided I’d let IU speak for itself - it’s a much more eloquent speaker than I could ever be. I’m prejudiced, I admit, but I think the Bloomington campus is one of the most beautiful college campuses in the country. I tried to show him all the highlights, but in particular I wanted him to see the music school and the arts center. I figured it couldn’t hurt. It was easy to see that Elijah was impressed, and if it’s planted a seed in his mind, well, I’ll do my best to ensure that it takes root and grows. I want so much for him, all the things he’s missed out on in his life.

I'd forgotten just how vast the campus is, but I figured I'd burned off quite a few of the calories I’d consumed at breakfast by the time we were back at the car. Elijah had been growing steadily more quiet and pale, and he said nothing as we drove to the testing center, but it was obvious the nerves were setting in again. Perhaps not quite as badly as the previous day - he only smoked one cigarette this time - but nevertheless, I calmly went over the same ground, to be sure he had it fixed firmly in his mind, and threw in another hug for encouragement for good measure.

“Give ‘em hell,” was my final advice, and he drew a deep breath and said with a grim determination, “I’ll try, Sean.”

My destination when I left was North Walnut Street and Caveat Emptor. You know I couldn’t leave Bloomington without stopping there. As usual, I spent more money than I probably (definitely) should have, but it was sheer bliss to browse the shelves of my favorite used bookstore again. Caveat Emptor is another thing I’ve missed like hell, and I’m determined that I won’t let another two years pass between visits. Buying books online just isn’t the same, Chris. The smell of that place... it's ambrosial.

In addition to buying a half-dozen history books for myself and a book for each of the girls, I browsed the CD collection, looking for something to get Elijah. Fortunately, one of the store clerks knew a lot more about music than I did, and he helped me pick out a couple of indie titles that I didn’t think Elijah already owned. I paid for my purchases - wincing a little - and headed back to the testing center. The hours had flown by with a speed they only can in a bookstore, and with the crosstown traffic thrown in, I was ten minutes late.

Elijah was waiting in the parking lot when I pulled up; as he opened the door and climbed into the minivan, I said ruefully, “Shit, I’m sorry I’m late.”

“You’re not,” he said dismissively. “I’ve only been waiting a couple minutes.” Then he settled back into his seat with a sigh, tilting his head back and looking totally drained.

“You okay?”

He turned his head and smiled, a tired smile. “Yeah, I’m okay, but fuck, am I glad that’s over.”

I grinned and reached over to give his hand a squeeze. “I’ll bet you are. How’d things go?”

“About the same as yesterday. I only had to guess at a few of the answers, even on the algebra section. I thought for sure I'd fuck that up big time.” He looked bemused. “But no matter what you say, Sean, I still think that can’t be a good sign.”

“I beg to differ, but we won’t argue about it. You ready to head home?”

His smile returned. “I am so ready.”

“All right then, buckle up and we’ll hit the road.” Then I remembered the CDs and figured it was the right time to give them to him. “Just a sec, though.” I reached into the back seat and found the smallest of the Caveat Emptor bags and handed it to him. “A little something to let you know how proud I am of you, Elijah.”

Elijah held the brown paper bag between his hands and just stared at it, making no effort to open it.

“Elijah?”

Well, I should have expected to discover that his eyes were filled with tears when he finally looked at me, and that he’d say, “You didn’t have to do this, Sean. You've already given me so much.”

“I did have to, actually,” I contradicted him. “You worked your ass off these past few months, and no one knows that better than I do. Now go on, open the bag.”

He gave me a lopsided grin. “Okay.” He reached inside it and pulled out the two CDs I’d bought and examined them one at a time. “Oh man, how did you know? These are both albums I’ve been wanting to buy.”

“I had help, I admit. A nice guy in the bookstore who seems to know a lot about indie music. He recommended them.”

“He knows his shit, I’ll tell you that.” Elijah turned over one of the cases, for a band called ‘The Soft Pack’ and scrutinized the play list, then he gave me a hesitant look. “Do you mind if we listen to this one now? I’ve been dying to hear it.”

“I dunno. I was kind of hoping we’d listen to ‘Sing Along with Barney and Friends’,” I joked, referring to Bella’s favorite CD that she insists we listen to every time we go anywhere. “It’s been two whole days since I’ve heard it. I’m going through withdrawal symptoms. Do your ears hang low, do they waggle to and fro?” I sang in a fair imitation of Barney. “Can you tie them in a knot, can you tie them is a bow?”

Elijah erupted into helpless giggles and I said with mock severity, “Are you laughing at my Barney impression, Elijah? I’m highly offended.”

“Sean...” Suddenly, an arm was flung around my neck, and Elijah said passionately, “Thank you - for everything.” Just as suddenly he drew back and started pulling the shrink wrap from his CD. It was a good thing he was focused on that, or he might have noticed how I half reached out to draw him back. Strange, but I felt momentarily bereft. But then, it’s been so long since I’ve had your arms around me, Chris.

He put the CD in the player, turned it on, and we headed home. It was a measure of just how tired Elijah was that he fell asleep before we were ten miles south on 37; the music was no match for the lulling effect of the highway. The CD case slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor mat. I let the CD play through to the end, and then turned the stereo off. Elijah slept straight through until we reached home, and I stole more than a few glances at him along the way. Did I say that Elijah is beautiful? Asleep, his face has an innocence and purity that a pre-Raphaelite angel - painted by Burne-Jones, perhaps - would envy. No offense to Henry Travers, but I’d rather look at my Clarence any day.

The girls were overjoyed to see us, and delighted with the gifts I brought them. Your mother, bless her heart, had lasagna and a salad prepared for our dinner. We ate early; I’d intended to stop for lunch on the way back, but I hadn’t wanted to wake Elijah, and so we were both starving. After dinner, it was no easy matter to get the girls settled and in bed. Allie and Lizzy still had so many questions, especially for Elijah, since test taking and homework loom pretty large in their lives, but he answered them all with his usual unending patience. Lizzy made both me and Elijah read the book I bought for her, Stellaluna, and I can see that that is another story I will soon know by heart.

Elijah went off to his room not long after (I leave you to guess how many more times he thanked me before he did) to listen to his new CDs, I suppose, and I came up here to write to you.

It is good to be home, Chris. But for Elijah in some ways the hardest part is now beginning - the wait for his test results to arrive. He won't be fretting for himself, but for fear of disappointing me. I’ll have to think of what the girls and I can do to keep him distracted for the next few weeks. Perhaps it’s time to go to the shelter and adopt that kitten that the girls have been clamoring for. I can’t think of a better distraction than that for all of us, and Allie and Lizzy at least are old enough now to take some responsibility for its care.

As I said at the start of this letter, I’m not worried about Elijah passing. I have every confidence that he will. But that’s about the only thing I’m sure of when it comes to Elijah. I feel so helpless sometimes in the face of his complexities - those moments, as at the bar, when I can see him suffering, but I don’t understand why or how to make things better. I’d hoped this trip to Bloomington, in particular our visit to Uncle Elizabeth’s, would provide me with some needed insight, but I’m afraid it’s only left me more confused than ever. A riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma, as I said; that’s Elijah. Will I ever decode him, I wonder?

Well, it’s time and past time I was in bed, but I thought you would want to hear about B-Town and IU, and the latest baby steps your husband has taken back into the world. I will write again soon, I promise.

Good night, my dearest. I miss you always.

Love,

Sean


	8. Letter 8: Memorial Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A backyard barbecue leads to some unsettling revelations.

May 30th

My darling Chris,

I should be in bed. It’s late even for me, the night owl, still to be up. But I find myself strangely unsettled tonight and needing to write to you, although I’d planned to leave this letter until tomorrow. My brain is churning, although to what end I’m not sure. Not to some useful mental equivalent of butter, I’m afraid, but something amorphous, ill defined and undoubtedly inedible. Yes, I’m rambling. No, I didn’t have too much to drink, although the beer was flowing this afternoon.

But perhaps I’m being disingenuous, even here in a letter to you. Only...some things were said today that I’m not finding it easy to shake off. I’m worried about repercussions and conflicted about what if anything should be done.

In addition to disingenuous I’m being obscure - I’m sorry. Let me go back and begin again, with this afternoon’s barbecue.

I can say with absolute surety that it was a success. I’d invited the usual eclectic group: my senior history class students, along with everyone on our street, some of Allie and Lizzy’s school friends, Mack, and Elijah’s friends Dom and Billy and the other guys in Billy’s band. I had some reservations about how well things would go - this was after all the first entertaining I’ve done since your death, and let’s face it, Chris, the ins and outs of planning a party were always your province. But with Elijah and Allie’s help, I managed it.

I would have felt guilty about allowing Elijah to do so much, but it genuinely made him happy to plan the food and, of course, the music (you should have seen his expression when I told him that if it were left to me, I’d just plug in my old boom box and tune it to the local Top 40 station). I recalled, too, what he said to me when we were in Bloomington, about his greatest ambition being to have a family to care for, so I let him have his way. Truthfully, without him, I’d have had to throw myself on the mercy of your mom, and planning and preparing enough food for thirty people, adults, teens and children, is above and beyond the call, given everything she’s done for us. It was enough that she’d agreed to take Bella for the day.

I’d originally planned for it to be a celebration of Elijah passing his GED tests, too, complete with banner and balloons, but he didn’t want me to make a fuss, and begged me so earnestly not to do it that I reluctantly acceded to his wishes. I suspect he feels inferior to my students, who are almost all going on to college in the fall, and I wish I could make him understand that his achievement is on a par with anything they’ve accomplished. But that’s a fight for another day.

You’d have been proud of the spread we had for our guests, Chris. Elijah truly outdid himself. The ribs went like hotcakes as well as the burgers and the kielbasa and sauerkraut, and at least a dozen people asked for the recipes for the barbecue sauce and the potato salad and coleslaw. They were that good. His cooking improves by leaps and bounds - probably out of necessity, considering what a hopeless cause I am, but he’s picking up a lot working at the restaurant. In fact, Mack told me today that he’s planning to ask Elijah if he wants to apprentice in the kitchen. Maybe nepotism got Elijah his job as a waiter, but it’s his own hard work and talent that are getting him ahead. He’ll earn a much better salary as a cook, even an apprentice one, and he can put more away toward the car he wants to buy. Bless Mack. My brother is a good-hearted soul, and I’m convinced that, even if he knew the truth about Elijah, he’d act exactly as he has.

The music Elijah picked was a big hit, too, at least with my seniors, who stared at me with incredulity when they heard what was playing. I’m sure they were expecting the ‘boom box and Top 40’ routine. Let me tell you, I could have earned a lot of street cred with them if I’d been the one responsible for the Buena Vista Social Club and that cumbia music that got them all dancing. But I gave the credit where it was due, and it did my heart good to see Elijah engaged in passionate discussions of music with Billy, Dom and the kids, arguing the merits of this band or that. There are times I can tell he’s thinking about how he should be behaving or reacting in a given situation, because he has no frame of reference for how ‘normal’ people (and I use that word advisedly) behave. It wasn’t a problem today that I could observe. I’ve never seen him so at ease.

As for me, I flipped burgers, talked the prospects for IU’s football team this fall with Mack, Sid and Paul, kept one eye on the beer cooler in case the seniors tried to sneak any Buds on the sly, and the other on Shrek. Our new kitten was the center of attention, by the way, but I was worried that the younger kids might forget he isn’t a toy. Allie supervised, though, and they were wonderful with him. A side benefit to all the attention is that he crashed early, and gave long-suffering Tom a break - what that poor cat puts up with! He has the patience of a saint.

But I digress. What, you are wondering, in all this could possibly make me unsettled? Your husband in sandals and Bermuda shorts hosting a backyard barbecue: hardly an earth-shaking event.

There were in point of fact two separate incidents, the first, and most unsettling, involving Brittany Johnson, one of my seniors. She’s a sweet girl, but not exactly the most restrained kid. Some of her bloopers have become legend in the teacher’s lounge. I never envisioned being on the receiving end of one of them, though, especially the one she had in store for me.

She came up, paper plate in hand, to get another burger and said, not quietly, “Mr. A., I really like your boyfriend.”

Chris, I was so dumbfounded I couldn’t speak, but I was aware that everyone in the vicinity was staring at me - I particularly noticed that Mack had a very odd expression on his face. Before I could gather my wits and frame a reply, Brittany enthused, “Elijah is so adorable and I’ve never met anyone who knows so much about music.”

Mack choked and started coughing. I hardly knew where to look or what to say. I was above all else very glad that Elijah was across the yard and out of earshot. God only knows what agonies of embarrassment Brittany’s words would have caused him. He nearly freaked out in B-town when the waitress at Mother Bear’s thought we were together, and that was nothing to his reaction to that guy hitting on me in Uncle Elizabeth’s. But while I could laugh off those incidents, this was a completely different matter. This was one of my students, Chris, and the last one I would have wanted to be laboring under such a misapprehension - a misapprehension that she would no doubt spread far and wide.

“Brittany, Elijah is not my boyfriend,” I said firmly, hoping to nip the conversation in the bud before she could continue granting her imprimatur on my ‘relationship’ with Elijah. I almost stupidly added, as if I was imitating a Hollywood celebrity, “We’re just good friends,” but caught myself in time. “He lives here, but that’s all.”

“Oh.” She seemed genuinely surprised and even disappointed. Should I have been flattered?

I took her by the arm and led her out of earshot of the others. I adopted my best ‘stern teacher’ voice and said, “Brittany, I hope you and the other kids aren’t gossiping. Gossip spreads, and untrue gossip like this can end up hurting innocent people.”

And that’s when she dropped the bomb. “But it’s already all over school,” she protested.

“What do you mean? What’s all over school?” I asked her, and I swear a chill went down my spine. Another kid might have clammed up, but not Brittany. I’m not sure if I was gladder or sadder that was the case, but I knew for damn sure I wasn’t going to like her answer either way.

She shrugged. “You know, that you and Elijah were in Bloomington together. Kissing and stuff.”

Chris, for a moment I honestly thought I was going to lose it and go off on her, which would have been unforgivable since it’s not Brittany’s fault. She was only repeating what she heard. I know whose fault it is, who spread that malicious, entirely manufactured rumor. It could only have been Laura Sandberg. My god, what sort of twisted individual is she?

I blew it off as best I could, but inside I was shaking with anger. “You can’t believe every rumor you hear at school, Brittany. Elijah and I were in Bloomington so that he could take a test. I drove him up there since he didn’t have his own car. End of story. There was no kissing and no ‘stuff’.”

She seemed to have trouble processing what I told her to judge from her puzzled expression. “I don’t understand, Mr. A.,” she said. “Elijah’s, like, totally into you. I mean totally. We’ve all noticed it.”

“Then you all noticed wrong, and I’m asking you not to repeat what you’ve told me to anyone.” I spoke with authority, but I was bending the truth in a way. I was aware of how often his eyes turned to me - maybe as an anchor or to reassure himself that he wasn’t alone in the crowd, but had an ally. I can see how the kids, who after all are basically a bundle of raging hormones at their age and seeing romance everywhere, might misinterpret his looks. But there is no fucking - I’m sorry, Chris, I know you hate when I use that word - excuse for Laura. She’s a shit-stirrer, plain and simple.

“Sure, Mr. A., if you don’t want me to say anything I won’t,” Brittany replied.

But I wish I had any real hope that she won’t repeat it.

The larger issue of course is what to do about Laura. I’ve never paid much mind to gossip, you know that. But it’s only a matter of time, if it hasn’t already happened, before one of the kids says to his or her parents at the dining table, “Did you know Mr. A. is gay?” This is a small town and unfortunately small towns can harbor small minds. Isn’t that why we sometimes discussed me trying for a job at the university - so we could escape that mindset? There are other Laura Sandbergs here who would be all too eager to go to Figgins and complain that I’m corrupting their kids. If I were the only one affected, I wouldn’t care. I’m not, though. There are the girls to consider and Elijah. I don’t want them touched by any scandal. It pains me even to dignify such horse manure with a response, but how can I let her get away with starting a rumor that could potentially cause me and Elijah so much grief? Now that I’ve written this all out, I can see that I have no choice – I have to confront her with what she’s done. Well, that should sure be a fun conversation. Hopefully it won’t end with me in jail for murder.

After Brittany wandered off with her burger, I told Mack I was going to the john, asked him to keep an eye on the grill and escaped inside. He was wearing that considering look that drives me crazy because I know tomorrow he’s going to get me alone and lecture me. Probably tell me I’m a naïve idiot and I should have expected it. He’s more worldly-wise than I am and less trusting, that’s true, but Chris, believing the best of people is part of who I am. I can’t change that and I wouldn’t if I could.

I needed a little time alone to decompress, to let my righteous anger dissipate. Allie and Lizzy would have sensed it; so would Elijah. I’m surrounded by people who can read me like a book - not that I’ve ever been great at hiding my emotions, as you know better than anyone. Even before you died, I turned crying into an art form. You were as Stoic as any Greek philosopher while the girls were being born. I was the one blubbering.

Since the family room was like Grand Central Station with people passing through on the way to the bathroom, and the kitchen too likely a place to find Elijah, I went into my office and sat at my desk, fingering the paper I use to write these letters, wishing I could drop everything and write to you then and there. Wishing even more that you were here to give me the guidance I so badly need.

I heard a soft meow, and Tom emerged cautiously from the closet. He wasn’t crazy about the invasion of strangers and had gone into hiding shortly after everyone arrived. He padded over with his somewhat uneven gait, jumped into my lap and immediately started purring. He’s Elijah’s cat, heart and soul, but I think he’s coming to love me, too.

It’s hard to feel angry with a purring cat in your lap. I can’t believe we waited so long to add a couple of cats to the household - but then what would have become of Tom if we had? There’s a divinity that shapes our ends, as Shakespeare said. After you died, the very idea was anathema to me, but now... I’m not so sure. After all, something drove me into St. Cecelia’s the day Elijah came into our lives. Perhaps it was you. Perhaps you are the divinity that is shaping my life, helping me find meaning in a world that you’ve departed.

Well, there I go rambling again, and I still haven’t told you the other event of significance this afternoon. I ended up being a witness to an altercation between Dom and Billy. It explained some things, but others it simply confused the more.

At the point I figured Mack was about to send the search and rescue dogs to look for me, I apologized to Tom for disturbing him (he was sound asleep) and got up, still holding him. Before I could set him down, I heard Dom say, in an annoyed voice, “Let go my arm, Billy.”

“No. We need to talk, Dom,” Billy replied, and he sounded grim. “Let’s go in here where we won’t be disturbed.”

By ‘here’ he obviously meant my office. I’m not even sure why I acted as I did, but I ducked into the closet with Tom still in my arms and pulled the door closed until only a slender crack of light showed. Very French farce and I’m not proud of myself. Yet I did it, Chris. Your husband hid in a closet and eavesdropped. And not surprisingly he suffered the common fate of eavesdroppers and heard some not so good things about himself.

“What the fuck is up with you, Bills?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Well, it seemed pretty damn clear from his defensive tone that Dom knew exactly what Billy was talking about, and I admit that I was curious.

Billy said in a sad quiet voice, “I thought you were my boyfriend.”

“I am your boyfriend.”

“Oh aye? Then tell me why can’t you take your eyes off him.”

“Off who? I don’t know what you’re-”

“Stop it, Dom.” Billy’s voice was still quiet, but with the barely-restrained impatience of one who has reached the end of his tether. “Do you think I’m blind? I’ve seen how you look at him.”

I didn’t need a crystal ball to figure out who ‘him’ was. It was Elijah, of course, and it confirmed my own suspicions about Dom’s attraction to Elijah, suspicions that had been only partially allayed when Elijah told me that he was in a relationship with someone else.

“Billy...” But the single word trailing off into silence was an admission in and of itself. Dom couldn’t go on, because he couldn’t deny the truth of Billy’s words.

“Ye’re a bloody idiot,” Billy said, and his Scots brogue was thicker than I’d yet heard it. “He’s not for you, he never will be.”

“You don’t know that,” Dom snapped.

“Oh for god’s sake, Dom, take your head out of your arse for a second. Elijah doesn’t have eyes for anyone but Sean. He worships the very ground that man walks on. Any fool can see that.”

Well, I can’t very well say that Billy’s observation is wrong. How many times have I expressed my nagging concern about Elijah’s hero worship to you? But there was something unsettling about hearing it from someone else - especially coming on top of what Brittany told me. I suppose it really never occurred to me that giving Elijah a home would be a matter of speculation or gossip - or anyone’s damn business but his, mine, the girls and our parents. You’d think all my years working in a high school would have learned me better, as your grandmother would have said.

“That’s not true,” Dom said, but there wasn’t much conviction in his words. “So he feels some gratitude to Sean for letting him use a spare bedroom. So what? Elijah’s queer, Sean’s not. The man was married, for fuck’s sake. He has three kids. You think he’s gonna move Elijah into the master bedroom and start fucking him?”

“You can be such a shit sometimes,” Billy said, and I certainly couldn’t disagree with him there, either. Dom’s words were unforgivably crude. “Sean’s a decent man, a kind man.”

“He’s a self-absorbed prick who doesn’t see that he’s ruining Elijah’s life,” Dom retorted angrily.

“Or maybe he’s saving it, Dom. Did you ever consider that? What do we really know about Elijah’s background? Haven’t you noticed that he never mentions his past? But I’m willing to bet that Sean has heard about it.”

My respect for Billy was growing by leaps and bounds. I couldn’t say the same about Dom. I understood his enmity now, rooted in an unreasoning, misplaced jealousy. Poor Billy.

Dom was silent - presumably he had no answer for that either - and Billy went on, “Elijah may be the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. He could take anyone’s eye, and if I weren’t in love with you, maybe he’d take mine, for all the good it would do me. But I’m in love with you, Dom, fool that I am. Will you throw that love away on a pipe dream?”

“Bills, I...”

“Don’t.” Billy cut him off. “Don’t make things worse by lying to me.” God, I could hear the tears in his voice. “I’ve made a decision, Dom. I won’t see you again until you’ve come to your senses, if you ever do. Until then, we’re through. But let me remind you one last time what you’ll be giving up, chasing after a dream. This.”

There was silence, and though I had a pretty good idea what was going on, I put my eye to the crack in the door and looked. Sure enough, Billy had Dom in a lip lock, and his hands were fisted in Dom’s hair so tightly that it must have hurt like hell. I’d never seen two guys kiss before, and I admit I was curious. It was strange, though, Chris. I had the weirdest sensation as I watched them that it wasn’t the first time I’d seen this, even though I know it was. And if I was expecting to be shocked by some intrinsic difference in a man kissing another man, I wasn’t. If I was expecting to be turned off by the sight, I wasn’t. A kiss is a kiss is a kiss, I guess.

Billy abruptly let Dom go and left the room. Dom just stood there a while with his head bowed, and I hoped he was doing some serious thinking, taking to heart what Billy had said. Admittedly, I’m the wrong person to give relationship advice. I fell in love with you the first time I set eyes on you, and through some miracle you felt the same. There was never any cause for jealousy. We fell in love, we got married, and we would have lived happily ever after. I can see you giving me that look again. All right, we sometimes had our differences. It wasn’t always perfect. I don’t believe in whitewashing the past, and I know you wouldn’t want me to. But no matter our differences, at the core we had a unity that nothing except death could tear asunder.

Nevertheless, Billy’s a genuinely good guy, Chris, and in my opinion Dom is the fool Billy called him, to toss his love away. But I suppose that’s his concern, not mine. My concern is Elijah. I’ve said it to you before, and I haven’t changed my opinion: Elijah isn’t ready to be in a relationship with anyone yet, much less someone as unsteady as Dom. He has to find himself first. He has to believe in his self-worth, he has to understand that he’s as beautiful on the inside as he is on the outside. I don’t want all the progress he’s made over the past months undone by some asshole who considers Elijah simply a beautiful trophy to be won, who will use him the way he was used in the past.

After Dom, with a deep sigh, followed after Billy, I emerged from the closet. “This will be our little secret,” I joked to Tom as I set him down on the carpet, although I wasn’t in a joking mood. Witnessing the break-up of a relationship is hardly funny, and that Elijah is the unwitting cause makes it even less so.

I half expected Billy to be gone when I returned to the yard. But he was there, taking his guitar out of its case. Elijah had asked him if the band would play a couple of songs, and I respect Billy for honoring that request. It can’t have been easy for him - Dom showed no signs of leaving, and in fact had gone straight to Elijah as if drawn there by a magnet. This proof that Billy’s plea had fallen on deaf ears saddened me, especially when I caught Billy staring at them with a gutted expression.

Next second Lizzy ran up and grabbed my hand. “Daddy, where have you been?” she said plaintively. “It’s time for dessert. You have to cut the cake, and I’m going to help you!” She dragged me off to the dessert table.

I’d ordered a sheet cake from Sam’s Club, and we bought three industrial size tubs of ice cream - vanilla, strawberry and chocolate - to go with it. There were various and sundry other desserts the neighbors brought, and I was never so thankful for the bottomless pits that are the stomachs of my senior class boys, or else there would be way too many leftovers in the kitchen calling out my name.

When everyone was in possession of a plate groaning with cake, cookies, ice cream, brownies and Death by Chocolate, we gathered the chairs in a semi-circle facing the deck where the band had set up their instruments. It should have been the pleasantest of ends to the party. The sun was starting to go down, it was cool and lovely, and we were being treated to a live performance by a first-class band. And it was the pleasantest of ends for almost everyone.

But definitely not for Billy. I recognized the song he started singing from the set Beecake played at Uncle Elizabeth’s. I knew it was no coincidence he’d chosen it. I can’t recall all the lyrics, but these lines jumped out at me:

You said I was your one and only  
You said with me that you'd never be alone  
And I drank in every lie

Billy was looking right at Dom as he sang, but Dom didn’t notice - his eyes were on Elijah.

After everyone was gone - and you can imagine how hard it was to take a civil farewell of Dom, although I managed it somehow and pointedly ignored his hint that he wanted to stay a while longer - I shepherded Allie and Lizzy inside, leaving Elijah to start the cleaning up, a fairly massive undertaking as you might recall. It wasn't quite their bedtime, but they have school in the morning and all the excitement had taken its toll - for once neither of them protested. Allie gave me a hug and a kiss and said it was 'the best party ever, Daddy!' Not that she has a lot to compare it to, and I expect in a couple more years, a backyard barbecue with Dad will seem pretty tame stuff. She went off to her room, and I got Lizzy tucked in and read to her. She didn't even last through one chapter of Charlotte's Web, Chris, before falling asleep with Shrek curled up on her chest.

When I returned outside, Tom had ventured into the yard and he was shadowing Elijah as he worked. I grabbed a trash bag and started filling it with used paper plates and napkins and plastic cups.

“So, did you have a good time?” I asked him. I’d not had an opportunity to talk alone with Elijah all afternoon and I had a nagging fear that the kids might have said something to him about the gossip at school. I can’t tell you how relieved I was when he smiled an unfettered smile of pure happiness.

“I did. At first I was kind of nervous, because I was worried everyone would think the food sucked, but they seemed to like it pretty well. And after that it was a lot of fun. Everyone was so nice, Sean.”

“I told you there was nothing to worry about, didn’t I? You’re a damn fine cook, Elijah.” I wanted to spill the beans about the apprentice cook position, but I was mum. Mack would kill me if I stole his thunder.

He flushed. “I’m getting better, anyway.”

“You’re too modest,” I told him. “You knocked their socks off.”

“Sean, I did not.” His face was scarlet, which amused me no end.

I took pity on him, although it was tempting to see if I could make him blush even harder. “But of course, I claimed total credit for the kick-ass music. My students all think I’m a god now.”

That made him laugh, but then Elijah said, “It wasn’t necessary. They think you’re a god anyway.”

It was my turn to laugh. “Which god is that? The god of Dreaded Pop History Quizzes?”

“Sean, I’m serious,” Elijah said. “They said you’re the best teacher they’ve ever had.”

Well, I have no false modesty when it comes to my teaching ability, as you know. It’s what I was born to do. But I confess the ego boost was welcome. When I returned to school after you died, the fire had gone out of me, and I wasn’t sure if I’d ever get it back, if I could ever have the same passion for teaching again. Bit by bit it’s been returning, but I’ve worried that I’m not doing my students justice, that I’m not inspiring them and nurturing them as well as I should. So hearing this from Elijah - it reassured me that maybe I am the old Sean Astin, in the classroom at least.

“You know what they told me? They said you sometimes dress up in character to teach, that you’re good enough to be an actor.”

I shook my head self-deprecatingly. “I don’t know about that, Elijah, but the drama department doesn’t mind if I raid the costume closet from time to time. I make a mean Benedict Arnold, if I do say so myself.”

“I’d really love to see you acting a historical character,” Elijah said, sounding wistful. “Could I maybe sit in on a class some time when you are? Is it allowed?”

Repercussions. I started this letter out by mentioning repercussions. My natural inclination was to say, ‘Sure, of course.' I was flattered and pleased that Elijah would want to sit in on one of my classes, and I thought that perhaps being in a schoolroom might plant another seed in his mind about applying to IU. But then I hesitated as an image of Laura at the testing center popped into my mind. I could see her disapproving glare as she watched Elijah and me hug. Would it add fuel to the fire of the rumors going around if we were seen together at school? For a moment I actually considered lying to Elijah, inventing some excuse for why I couldn’t honor his request. And then I felt ashamed as I’ve rarely felt ashamed of my own behavior. Why was I allowing myself to be affected by the prurient minds of the Laura Sandbergs of the world? I know what you would have said, Chris. I could see the disappointment in your eyes if I copped out and lied to Elijah. So I didn’t. I refused to allow her poison to infect me. I promise you, my dearest, it won’t happen again.

When I told Elijah yes, I was rewarded by a smile of such shy delight that it was hard not to hug him to me and apologize for my momentary lapse of faith.

I’ve been as naïve as Mack no doubt intends to inform me on the morrow, trusting that no repercussions would result from taking Elijah in, that he could become part of our lives and no one would judge us. Once we got past the hurdle of your in-laws, I assumed it would all be smooth sailing. I should have known better. We none of us exist in a bubble, isolated from our peers.

There is one last thing I need to tell you, and it is perhaps more unsettling than anything else that happened today. I mentioned that while Billy was singing, Dom had his eyes fixed on Elijah. What I didn’t mention is that Elijah had his eyes fixed on me. The expression in them reminded me of the night we spent in B-town, when I woke up in the gray light of dawn and found him awake and watching me. Elijah’s, like, totally into you. I mean totally. We’ve all noticed it and Elijah doesn’t have eyes for anyone but Sean. The same observation from two very different observers. For the first time I’ve begun to wonder if what Elijah feels - what he thinks he feels - goes beyond hero worship.

Can he possibly believe himself in love with me, Chris? And if so, what in God’s name am I going to do about it?

I have no answer to that question yet, and I’m too tired now to think straight or make any intelligent decisions. Perhaps by the time I next write to you, I’ll have it figured out. Or maybe I'm reading too much into what Brittany and Billy said. I hope so.

Well as usual I've run on far too long, so I'll draw this letter to a close. Good night, my dearest.

I miss you always.

Love,

Sean


	9. Letter 9: Wedding Anniversary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On his wedding anniversary, Sean visits Chris's grave with Elijah.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hart Island and the potter's field are real places.

June 10th

My darling Chris,

I wonder... did you sense my presence at the cemetery today? I wish I could say that I sensed yours or that I felt close to you there, but I didn’t. I never do. And I don’t know how to feel about that. When I read the simple inscription on your gravestone, Christine Harrell Astin, Loving Wife and Mother, the words seem remote, impersonal. My mind still fights against the painful reality of your body interred in the earth beneath the carved angel whose wings are spread as if to guard you – too late.

That doesn’t mean your presence is absent from my life, far from it. I can sense it right now - I always do when I’m writing to you - as if you hover at my shoulder, just out of sight. I sense it most strongly of all when I’m with the girls and you smile at me with their eyes or laugh with their mouths or reach out to me with their living arms, not the cold marble arms of that angel.

And yet, I cannot let your grave go untended, and it is our anniversary. So I brought you the dozen yellow roses I’d have given you if you were still alive, and I laid them on your grave. Oh Chris-

Today has been more of a struggle than I expected. I honestly thought I was better prepared to handle our anniversary this year. All those baby steps... Surely they count for something? Surely discovering meaning in my life outside caring for the girls, starting to look a little ahead instead of always behind me counts for something? But grief is more skilled at ambush than any cat crouched outside a mouse hole. I should have known it would be lying in wait.

Thankfully there was little time for thoughts of self to intrude while I was at school, and none of my colleagues recalled that today is our wedding anniversary. You can be sure I didn’t remind them. I’ve no doubt that any expression of sympathy would have had me bawling - it’s been a while since I’ve felt so fragile, as if I’d shatter at the slightest touch - and overt displays of grief in the workplace make people uncomfortable, especially when they think you should be getting your shit together and moving on.

Your parents, bless them, picked up the girls and took them for pizza and a movie so I could visit the cemetery after I got home from work. I’ve written this so many times, Chris, but I truly don’t know where I’d be without them. This was no easy day for them either, but they knew I didn’t want the girls to see me in such an emotional state. Bella, of course, is too young to understand, but Allie and Lizzy aren’t, and their tender solicitude this morning almost wrecked me. I want always to be strong for them but I can’t, and it breaks my heart that sometimes they have to be the strong ones for me.

I didn’t go to the cemetery alone, however; Elijah went with me. I was glad for his company, although not for the reason he was free to go with me. You see, his arm was burned in an accident at the restaurant and he’s still recovering. He’ll be fine, thankfully, but carrying heavy trays is not advisable yet, so Mack gave him a couple of days off.

He asked me, very diffidently, if I’d like him to drive me to the cemetery. “I can use the practice,” he said, but I wasn’t fooled; the offer came straight from his heart. I don’t know what Mack might have told him, if he warned Elijah that I hadn’t handled last year’s anniversary at all well - to put it mildly. But I strongly suspect Mack did warn him, because when I came downstairs for breakfast Elijah didn’t say anything, he only gave me a sad, sympathetic look - the look of one who, like me, has journeyed to hell and back. That’s why I welcomed Elijah’s company, Chris. He understands what I've been through, and no matter what, he'll never judge me or offer me meaningless platitudes. And most of all, I don’t have to be strong in front of him, pretend I’ve got my shit together when I’m losing it.

As we drove into town, I stared blankly out the window, trying not to feel anything, not to think about where we were headed. Elijah didn’t turn on the radio or CD player, and he didn’t try to fill the silence with chit chat or forced conversation.

We stopped at the florist downtown on the way, and I bought your roses. Elijah bought flowers for you, too. I was touched, and also curious because he was evidently a regular customer there; the girl behind the counter greeted him by his first name. If I didn’t know better, I’d have suspected they had something going. Clearly there had to be another explanation, but it was really none of my business and, well, I had other things on my mind.

When we got to the cemetery, Elijah turned in the main entrance. It wasn’t until we stopped opposite the path to your grave that I realized he’d driven straight to it without asking me for any directions.

“You’ve been here before?” I said, surprised.

Elijah looked awkward. “Yeah. I come here sometimes, just to sit and think. It’s so peaceful.” He bit his lip. “I hope you don’t mind, Sean.”

“Mind? Of course I don’t mind.” In fact, I was strangely moved by his revelation.

We got out of the car with our flowers and walked the short distance to your grave. It was such a beautiful day, Chris. Cruelly like the day we were married. A perfect June day for a perfect June wedding. We thought it was a sign.

When we reached your grave I saw another bouquet, similar to the one Elijah carried, lying at the base of the headstone, but the flowers were fading. Elijah bent to pick it up and replaced it with the one he carried.

“Do you always bring flowers?” I asked him, understanding why the girl in the florist’s shop knew him by name.

He nodded. “It wouldn’t seem right not to.”

Without replying, I set the roses down, very gently as if they might shatter. Or maybe it was myself I feared for. This is not how I ever imagined giving you flowers on our anniversary. Elijah moved back, giving me space. There were a few stray bits of grass clinging to the marble, no doubt kicked up by the lawn mower. I brushed them away, trying desperately to feel something, but I was as numb inside as if I’d been injected with Novocaine. I wanted to say something to you, but what could I say? ‘Happy 14th Anniversary, my darling’? What happiness can there ever be for me on this day now?

Finally I knelt, bowed my head, and tried to pray. But nothing came to me except the ridiculous thought that I was getting grass stains on my slacks and you’d scold me when I got home. It was then that the numbness wore off and the pain slammed into me and I started to cry. It wasn’t pretty.

“Sean,” Elijah gripped my shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

I don’t know how long I knelt there crying, Elijah’s hand like some anchor preventing me from losing my moorings completely. At some point a crumpled Kleenex appeared in front of my face and I took it gratefully and wiped my streaming eyes. When I finally managed to pull myself together, I said in a tear-thickened voice, “Did you find peace at your mother’s grave?” I honestly wanted to know. It seemed inconceivable to me at that moment.

For an instant Elijah's grip turned to a convulsive, painful pinch. “I’ve never been to her grave.”

There was something in the way he said this that jolted me out of my grief as nothing else could have. I looked up at him, blinking the last tears away, and what I saw in his eyes was a depth of bitterness and anguish that I hoped I would never see there again.

“Why not?” I said. “What happened?”

Elijah crouched beside me. He was quiet for a while, hands loosely clasped in front of him as he stared blindly at the flowers he’d brought, red and purple and gold, so colorful and cheery. A sparrow alighted briefly on the gravestone, sang a few notes for us, and then flew away.

Eventually he said, “When I found out my mom was dead, the first thing I asked was where she was buried. They said,” his throat worked, “that because there’d been no one to claim her body and she had no money, she was buried on Hart Island.”

“Hart Island?” The name rang a vague bell, but I couldn’t place it.

“Yeah, it’s where the city buries the poor and unwanted,” Elijah said, the bitterness evident now in his tone. “People call it the potter’s field.”

I remembered then reading about it, not in the context of present day New York, but the Civil War, when it had been used for a few months as a prison for Confederate soldiers and then later as a cemetery. I had no idea that it was still being used for that purpose.

“Couldn’t you go to Hart Island?”

“I wanted to, but the public isn’t allowed. Absolutely no visitors, I was told.” Elijah’s hands balled into fists. “My fucking mother is buried there, Sean, and I couldn’t go to see her. Not that she even has a proper grave. They do mass burials, did you know that? Three plain pine coffins stacked one on top of the other in a trench. It’s inmates from Riker’s who dig the graves.” He dashed his fist across his tear-filled eyes almost angrily. “I looked up photos of the potter’s field on the Internet. It’s ugly and barren; no flowers, no gravestones, not even a fucking tree. Just a small marker and dead grass.”

I took his tear-damp hand between mine. It was my turn to say, “Elijah, I’m so sorry.”

He tilted his head back, drew a deep breath and slowly released it. “No, I’m sorry,” he said. “You don’t need to hear this shit right now.”

“I disagree. And I am the one who raised the topic. Go on,” I said, sensing that there was more he needed to say.

“I know it’s not really important, ‘cause her spirit is someplace else, but I wish Mom was buried in a place like this.” Elijah gazed around him, at the shade trees and the flowers and the sweep of emerald green lawn. “Maybe that’s why I like coming here, Sean. It helps erase the memory of those photos. I can imagine her in a place like this, all peaceful and beautiful.”

“I don’t find peace or solace here,” I confessed. “I don’t think I ever will. But I’m very glad you do, Elijah. I hope you'll keep coming here whenever you feel the need.” I gave his hand a squeeze, let it go, and climbed to my feet. We returned to the car without another word.

In the hours since, I’ve thought a lot about what Elijah told me.

I’ve sometimes had the (heretical no doubt to Father Michael) thought that it’s a shame the prettiest piece of land in the town is reserved for the use of the dead. But I see now that it’s not for the dead, but for the living, for those who, like Elijah, find their heart’s ease there. Whatever my feelings might be, how can I begrudge him or anyone else that consolation?

But more importantly, I want to bring Elijah’s mother there. I want her to have a proper burial and a final resting place in St. Cecelia’s cemetery. It’s unconscionable that he’s been deprived even of this. My god, Chris, they took everything from him. I’m going to make some inquiries and see what I can do. I find it hard to believe that he has no legal right to remove his mother’s body from the potter’s field. If necessary, I’ll hire an attorney. I won’t say anything to him until I’ve succeeded - and I intend to succeed, even if I have to go to New York myself and raise hell with whatever agency is in charge.

When we got home, Elijah insisted on making me dinner. Truthfully I didn’t have much appetite, and told him so, but he seemed genuinely distressed at the thought of me skipping dinner so I let him fuss. I think he still felt badly about bringing up his mom at the cemetery and was trying to make it up to me, although he had no reason to, and in the end, he did me a favor, bringing me out of my grief to see once again how much worse off I could be. My Clarence still has lessons to teach me, it seems. How many times over has he earned his wings, I wonder?

Your parents returned with the girls a short time later. They'd stopped at the ice cream parlor and brought back ice cream for me and Elijah. “Daddy, we got you your favoritest kind, pistachio,” Lizzy said, and I ate it all to please them, though I can’t say I had much more appetite for ice cream than I had for dinner.

After your parents left, with my assurance that I was holding it together okay, I spent a quiet time in the family room with our girls, cuddling with Bella on the sofa while Allie finished her homework and Lizzy played with Shrek. I needed that quiet time with them more than anything. Elijah had gone off to his room and I didn’t see him again until after I’d put the girls to bed - a rather lengthier process than usual, since I found it hard to leave them and Allie, especially, seemed anxious about me. I don’t know how long I sat with her on the bed, simply stroking her hair and thinking how very much she takes after you, not only in looks, but in caring and compassion. How did we produce such amazing children, Chris? I take very little credit for it. I only hope I can shepherd them to adulthood with a fraction of the wisdom you would have done.

When I closed the door to Allie’s room with a final ‘good night, sweetheart’, I discovered Elijah standing diffidently in the hallway. He had a sheet of white paper in his hand.

“Sean,” he said, “I found this poem on the Internet a while ago. Whenever I’m feeling especially sad about Mom, I read it. It helps. I thought maybe it would help you, too, so I printed out a copy for you.”

I took the paper from him and read the poem.

“That’s very beautiful, Elijah,” I said, and my voice cracked a little. “Thank you.” I held out my arms to him and we hugged. I needed that, too, Chris, and even more, I think Elijah needed it. The day had stirred a lot of sad memories for him.

“Sean, I...” Elijah said in a muffled voice against my shoulder, and stopped.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing,” he said, and pulled away. His eyes were over bright as he said, “I’m gonna hit the sack. You should, too, Sean.”

“I will in a little while.” I didn’t have to explain. I'm sure he knew I would be writing to you tonight. “Good night, Elijah,” I said. “See you in the morning.” I admit I felt a pang when he disappeared inside his room, leaving me alone as I hadn't been all day. But I couldn't use him like that. He looked exhausted and I suspect his arm was bothering him.

Tom came in a short time ago, though, and he’s sitting on my lap right now purring. Usually he sleeps with Elijah, but I’ll welcome his company. I’ve adapted to sleeping alone, but our bed will feel very large and empty tonight, Chris.

Before I end this letter, I want to write down for you the poem that Elijah gave me.

Do not stand at my grave and weep,  
I am not there; I do not sleep.  
I am a thousand winds that blow,  
I am the diamond glints on snow,  
I am the sun on ripened grain,  
I am the gentle autumn rain.  
When you awaken in the morning’s hush  
I am the swift uplifting rush  
Of quiet birds in circling flight.  
I am the soft starlight at night.  
Do not stand at my grave and cry,  
I am not there; I did not die.

If you are looking over my shoulder right now and reading, know that I see you in all these places and always will.

Good night, my dearest.

I miss you.

Love,

Sean


	10. Letter 10: Fourth of July

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sean discovers the truth of his feelings for Elijah.

July 4th

My darling Chris,

Do I have the right to call you that anymore?

I have sat here, pen in hand, staring down at the blank paper for countless minutes, trying to find a way to begin this letter. You see, never has it been so necessary for me to write to you, but never has it been so hard. Never have I wanted to take the coward’s way out so badly. But I must and will abide by my compact to be truthful with you always when I write to you.

Yet how do I pen the words? In the end, I suppose there is only one way: stark and simple.

I’m in love with Elijah.

Yes, you read that right.

I’m in love with Elijah.

I feel like a stranger to myself. Everything I believed about love and fidelity has turned out to be a sham. Everything I stood for as your husband and partner a lie. Three weeks ago I knelt at your grave weeping, and tonight I looked at Elijah and a veil across my heart was ripped away and I... I wanted him. No, I can’t escape by twisting tenses. I want Elijah. I love him.

I’m deeply shamed. You haven’t even been gone from my life for two years.

Oh Chris, how can I possibly love someone else so soon?

In the past few hours I’ve asked myself that question over and over. The answer is always the same: I don’t know how, but I do. And I can’t argue or rationalize away what I’m feeling because I’ve felt it before - for you. Only instead of giddy and joyful, this time I’m left bewildered and, yes, scared. Because I don’t want this, I didn’t ask for it, and I don’t know what to do about it.

What I wouldn’t give to look into your face right now... to ask your forgiveness in all humility for my unfaithfulness, to beg your understanding.

Would you grant it to me? Or would you turn away? What are you feeling, I wonder, as you read over my shoulder? Disgust? Betrayal? Hurt? It wasn’t for this, I can hear you say, that I smiled at you in St. Cecelia’s the day you met Elijah. How could you do this to me, Sean? How?

But I’m fooling myself. I’ve been fooling myself for months. These letters don’t reach you, you’re not hovering at my shoulder reading them. It’s all a pathetic pretense, a delusion, an emotional crutch.

You’re gone, Chris. Dead. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, as Father Michael recited at your graveside. You have nothing to say to me anymore and never will, and now...

Oh Jesus, I can’t bear this, I can’t ---

*

*

*

*

*

Chris, forgive me for proving faithless in this, too, for walking away if only for a little while. Because I have to believe that these letters somehow do reach you, that they aren’t simply an exercise given to me by Dr. Chaudry to help me work past my grief and loneliness. I have to believe that your spirit yet lingers and will for as long as I need you.

And I have to believe you will listen with an open mind while I unravel the events that led me down this unexpected path. Will you bear with me? Because I’m feeling more utterly alone right now than I can ever remember feeling, even after you died. Then I was surrounded by family and friends. But who can I turn to now? Where can I seek advice? I can’t fathom talking about this with anyone right now - not Mack, not my parents or yours. And most certainly not Elijah.

I once wrote to you that if I ever fell in love again, it would probably sneak up on me, and take me by surprise. I’d say that my words were prophetic, except that with the benefit of hindsight, I can see that that it isn’t entirely true. There were clues, Chris, recent clues, hints that I failed to grasp, or possibly willfully ignored or misinterpreted, until tonight, when I looked at Elijah and...

But there, I get ahead of myself as usual. Only I doubt that you’re smiling at me this time.

Right from the start I recognized Elijah’s beauty in a dispassionate way. I’ve mentioned it in some of my letters to you. But it’s not only his obvious physical beauty that I’m referring to, nor is it the potent sexual charisma he demonstrated on St. Patrick’s Day or at the gay bar we went to in Bloomington. That he seems able to turn on and off like a switch, and it’s clear that for him it’s both a weapon and a shield.

No, what I’m talking about is something inside him, a sort of light, for lack of a better word, that to my eyes grows brighter and brighter. That it exists at all after the hell he’s been through makes it all the more special, for it speaks to an inherent inner strength and goodness he possesses. And what can be more beautiful than that?

And I truly believe that my awareness of Elijah’s beauty was dispassionate at the beginning. When exactly that changed is difficult to pinpoint although, as I said, with the benefit of hindsight, there were clues. Perhaps it was as long ago as Valentine’s Day, when I kissed Valerie and for a fleeting instant saw Elijah’s face. Although I’m very sure I wasn’t in love with him then, but maybe feeling a pull of physical attraction.

More recently, though, my lack of dispassion about everything to do with him is so painfully obvious that I can only wonder at my willful blindness. How is it possible that I could explain away my behavior as that of a friend or disinterested observer?

Fuck, Chris, a few weeks ago I watched Elijah sleeping and I nearly kissed him, not on the brow as I would the girls, but on the mouth like a lover, and I later rationalized it as simply a momentary lapse, what anyone might feel in the presence of heart-stopping beauty. Last weekend at the ice cream stand I watched Elijah holding Bella, and explained away the depths of my emotions as the result of Elijah’s protective tenderness of her and how trustingly she slept in his arms.

I’ve been working my ass off trying to get back into shape, and it hasn’t been just for myself that I’ve slogged all those miles at the school track this summer. I’ve been paying more attention to my appearance, hell, I even bought some new clothes, and I can see now that it’s Elijah’s approval and admiration I want. In retrospect my initial mistrust and later jealousy of Dom take on an even uglier cast. My desire to keep Elijah to myself isn’t simply a need for his friendship and companionship, but for something more.

There are none so blind as they who will not see, the saying goes, and dear god I have been blind. But my eyes are fully opened now, for good or ill.

The epiphany happened at the fireworks. We didn’t attend last year, of course, but the girls were clamoring to go this year and how could I turn them down? I was thinking of it as another baby step, Chris: packing a picnic, driving down to Lakeside Park as we’d done so often in the past, coming to grips with yet another painful memory of the happiness we’d shared.

Baby step? I can only laugh now at my naïveté. The Sean who set out for the fireworks this afternoon and the Sean who is writing this letter are two different people. That’s what love does to you; it changes you in profound ways, whether you want it to or not, whether you welcomed it with open arms or tried your damnedest to ignore it. And once you’ve acknowledged that love, there is no going back, like Persephone eating the pomegranate seeds.

Elijah worked the brunch shift so he could get off early enough to go with us to the fireworks. His emotions are usually tightly contained, but not this time. I’ve rarely seen him so visibly excited, not even when we took the trip to the water park last weekend. I even teased him about it, claiming he was more excited than the girls, but he didn’t look embarrassed or self-conscious.

“I love fireworks,” he said, and his eyes were shining. “I used to watch the Macy’s fireworks on the East River whenever I could. My mom took me to see them a couple times when I was a kid. They were amazing.”

It was the first time I can ever recall Elijah mentioning his mother without a shadow passing over his face, and I was glad that for once he could think of her and be purely happy, especially after what I learned at the cemetery.

“We can’t compete with Macy’s,” I warned him.

“It doesn’t matter. Fireworks are fireworks. I’m sure they’ll be brilliant.”

Elijah made all the food: fried chicken, potato salad and cole slaw. He even baked buttermilk biscuits and made a chocolate cake. He said he wanted us to have a real picnic complete with a wicker picnic basket and a red checked tablecloth. It was sweet, Chris, but sad, too. Because Elijah has this idealized vision of what it means to be a family, shaped by the TV shows he used to watch to escape the brutal realities of his life. But this isn’t Leave It to Beaver or Father Knows Best, families like that don’t exist, and... Well, let me leave that for the moment.

It began as simply an enjoyable family outing without a single omen for what was to come. We arrived early to secure a picnic table, and we were joined by the Shoemakers and the Parkers and the families of several of Allie and Lizzy’s classmates. After we ate, Elijah took Bella and some of the younger kids to the playground, and I tossed a Frisbee with Ed and Rick and a few of my students who were there. Nothing could have been more normal.

When the sun was nearly down, we spread out the blanket we’d brought and settled down to watch the fireworks. Allie and Lizzy were sitting with their friends, so it was just me and Elijah, and I had Bella on my lap. Since it was her first time seeing fireworks, I was focused on her, concerned that the noise might scare her at first. Of course she loved every second of it from the first rocket to the last. How I wish you could have seen her, laughing and clapping her hands with delight.

At some point, I’m not exactly sure when because it’s a blur to me, I looked over at Elijah. I don’t know what I was thinking, Chris; I suppose I simply wanted to see him happy, lost in the moment and without the weight of the past on him as it so often is.

But whatever I was thinking was knocked completely out of my head. I stared at him dumbstruck and completely captivated by his rapt expression and how the bursts of colored light played on his skin and reflected in his eyes, those extraordinary, extraordinary eyes. I felt as if I was drowning and yet at the same time uplifted, as if a great truth was being revealed to me at last. I can only compare it to how I felt the first time I saw you, sitting at that table in the library with the sun making a halo around you. But if you were the sun, Chris, then Elijah is the stars.

I have no idea how long I stared. It might have been seconds, it might have been ages. But it was at that moment that the obscuring veil was torn away, and I saw inside my heart and understood that I was in love with him.

He didn’t notice me staring, and I thank god for that, because if he had, if he’d looked at me right then, I don’t know what might have happened. My emotions were so raw and transparent. Hell, they still are, and how I managed to keep my composure and act with a semblance of normalcy when the fireworks were over, is a mystery. It helped that the girls, and Elijah, too, were bubbling over with excitement. I could let them do the talking and my silence go unnoticed.

Later, after the girls were in bed, which took longer than usual as they were understandably pretty wired, Elijah asked me if I’d like a beer and if he should turn on CNN. It was our typical evening ritual when he’s not at work, and for the first time it hit me how much like a married couple we’ve been acting - going out together as a family, putting the kids to bed then settling down on the sofa to watch TV. It hit me, too, how badly I wanted what would come after if we were married: the foreplay, the sex, the pillow talk. And the comfort of someone to sleep with, to hold against the darkness and wake up with in the morning light.

So the last thing on earth I could risk was to be alone with him, god knows what stupidity on my part would have resulted, and yet at the same time... Jesus, how I wanted to be alone with him and to hell with the consequences. It scares the shit out of me, Chris, how badly I wanted it.

But more than anything else, what I needed was time to process my emotions which were battering at me, demanding my attention. My internal turmoil must have been showing on the surface, because Elijah asked me hesitantly if I was okay.

“I’m just a little tired,” I lied. “I think I’ll take a rain check and hit the sack early.”

My acting seemed to convince him, because he didn’t argue, only said, “I had such an incredible time tonight, Sean. The fireworks were awesome.”

Twenty-four hours ago I would have pulled Elijah into a casual hug and thought nothing of it. But tonight? I didn’t dare, because I was afraid it might not have ended up as something casual on my part. So I only said, “I’m glad you had a great time, Elijah,” and then I made good my escape.

Not to bed, but to my office. To sit and grapple with what has happened, and work up the nerve to write to you. To be honest, my mind keeps drifting back to the fireworks and how Elijah looked. Or to other images of him that have somehow, without my knowing how, become enshrined in my mind and heart. Dressed up to go out in Btown. Dripping wet and laughing after we rode the slide at the water park. Frowning with concentration as he braided Bella’s hair. Giggling with Allie over a fashion magazine. Holding a purring Tom on his lap as he watched TV. Asleep in his bed, looking so goddamn beautiful, Chris... He’ll be in bed right now, as a matter of fact. I heard him go upstairs a while ago. Despite my best intentions, my mind pictures him as I saw him the night he burned his arm. Plays out scenes where I go to him, wake him with a kiss, tell him I love him. It’s insane, it’s wrong on every level, and it scares the living daylights out of me because I want to do it so badly. So fucking badly.

And if you ask me why I should resist, why I shouldn’t give in to the feelings consuming me, there are so many complications and obstacles, the first being that I’m simply not ready to let Elijah or anyone else into that space that was always yours and yours alone. Yes, I fully expected that someday there would be another woman in my life. I’m still young, and I don’t want to be by myself forever. Nor have I ever made any secret of the fact that it would do the girls good to have a stepmother - when the time was right.

But all that was, I believed, years down the road. Only it didn’t take years, and Elijah is not a woman. For myself that fact hardly seems to matter. Male or female, that isn’t what counts. I wasn’t repelled by that guy hitting on me at Uncle Elizabeth’s. I didn’t feel uncomfortable in that milieu, either. I was young when I met you, only nineteen. I expect had you been a guy I’d have fallen for you just as hard. As far as the girls are concerned, they consider Elijah a second father already. Truthfully, in many ways he fills the role a stepmother might have. And that scares me, too, because it’s tempting to let him set aside his own future and fill that role permanently. He’d do it, because of that fucked up ideal of the perfect family with the stay-at-home mom that he believes in. It’s too easy, too pat, and most of all it’s too soon.

It’s also useless to deny that however I feel about it, Elijah’s gender complicates matters greatly. Regardless of the truth, our friends, people at school and church, even, I fear, some in our families - and you can imagine Sue’s over the top reaction - would judge us harshly if we became involved in a relationship. They would believe the worst, believe that this has been going on for some time and that Elijah and I were having an affair while the girls slept just down the hallway.

You know as well I do that I could never have brought a young woman into this house and made her part of our family as I did Elijah. It is only his gender and the fact that I had been a happily married, presumably resolutely heterosexual man, that made it possible. And even then there were raised eyebrows, certainly at the start, and more after Laura saw us in Btown and her prurient mind assumed the worst.

Yes, I confronted Laura and put a stop to her venomous tongue spreading any more baseless gossip at school, and no, she didn’t succeed in convincing anybody, except perhaps a few of my students, who seem to find the idea of Elijah as my boyfriend not just okay but totally cool. But I admit that I was very glad to reach the end of the school year, to put all that unpleasantness behind me, and I wonder now, Chris, if in part my relief was because there was the tiniest kernel of truth hidden in her welter of lies.

Inevitably there are those who would look back and say, ‘Ah, Laura was right all along’. Nor would people at school be the only ones to speculate on what exactly had been going on behind closed doors and for how long. Small towns thrive on gossip. There could be repercussions, nasty ones, affecting not only me, but Elijah as well, and of course the girls. I believe your parents and mine, and Mack, would support me no matter what. And they can handle any shit that hits the fan. But my three staunchest allies would be Allie, Lizzy and Bella, because they love Elijah and if it were up to them, he would never leave us. Yet that love makes them so very, very vulnerable to being hurt. Above all else, Chris, our daughters must and will be protected from any ugliness.

Now I can see you looking disappointed in me, because we agreed never to live our lives in fear of petty gossip and the censure of the narrow-minded, but to stand up to them and to teach our children to do the same. And Chris, I swear to you that despite what I’ve written of the obstacles between me and Elijah, I wouldn’t throw away a second chance for happiness simply because it came too soon or because there might be unpleasant repercussions.

But having reached this point, I see now that there is only one obstacle that truly matters, and it trumps all the rest:

Elijah doesn’t love me.

I’ve thought long and hard about what Brittany said at the barbecue on Memorial Day and also about the conversation I overheard between Dom and Billy that day and what Billy said. Elijah is totally into you, and Elijah doesn’t have eyes for anyone but Sean. I worried then that Elijah might be confusing hero worship with something else. Nothing that has happened since has persuaded me otherwise. For far too long he has had me firmly set on a pedestal, a place that I don’t deserve to be, and knowing that, I can’t possibly reveal my feelings to him.

Because Elijah would do anything for me, Chris. He’s said so enough times and with such utter conviction in his voice that I have not the slightest doubt that he means it. I was the first person ever to offer him a helping hand without expecting something in return, and out of a misplaced sense of gratitude, he would give me whatever I asked for, including his body to use. What kind of man would I be to take advantage of him for my own selfish needs? How could I ever live with myself? How could such a one-sided relationship possibly succeed? It’s a recipe for disaster.

The truth is that Elijah is not emotionally ready to love anyone. How can he be, after the life he was forced to lead, where the only kind of love he knew was bought and paid for? He’s finally begun to find himself, to build a life that belongs to him and no one else. I can’t, I won’t, take that away from him. Isn’t that what love demands of us, to put the loved one’s welfare above our own? Perhaps I can redeem myself in your eyes and my own by putting Elijah first.

But while my course is now clear, I’m not kidding myself that it will be easy. I may not have wanted to fall in love with Elijah, but I have and it can’t be undone. It’s not in my nature to be passive, Chris, to restrain my feelings. You know that better than anyone. But I’ll manage it somehow. I must. And over time surely it will grow easier to bear until Elijah leaves us to begin his own life, as he inevitably will.

Chris, I said that if you were the sun then Elijah is the stars.

But the sun’s rays touch and warm us, while the stars remain forever out of reach, beautiful yet remote.

And for all our sake’s, it is best they remain so.

Please believe I still love and miss you,

Sean


	11. Letter 11: Isabella's Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sean discovers the truth about what happened on New Year's Eve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major angst and tissue warning. This is the worst of it, though. Things will get better from here, I promise.

July 23rd

My darling Chris,

I had planned for this letter to be very different. I had meant for it to be purely joyful, all about our Bella's third birthday and the party we had for her yesterday. But something has happened since that makes that impossible.

Elijah is gone. He left late last night and went to stay with Mack.

*

*

*

Shit. I promised myself I wouldn’t do this, but here I am once more barely able to see the paper through my tears. I thought I was done with crying. Fuck.

But mine aren't the only tears being shed. The girls are completely heartbroken. When Elijah wasn't at breakfast this morning, and I gave them the news that he'd moved out and taken Tom with him, it was ... Chris, I'd hoped never to see such devastation on their faces again, and worst of all is the knowledge that I am to blame. Not Elijah, but me.

I remember once, months ago, Mack saying to me that if I ever felt it necessary for Elijah to move out, I should let him know and he'd help him find a place to stay. At the time, I couldn't fathom what he was talking about or why he would even make such an offer. But I guess he understood more than I gave him credit for. If he'd told me then, though, I doubt I'd have believed him. There are none so blind as they who will not see, and I have been so blind. Ruinously so, as I discovered last night, leaving me with no choice but to send Elijah away.

So, late as it was, I picked up the phone and called Mack and took him up on his offer. He didn't ask any questions or argue. I think he must half have been expecting it.

I had to send Elijah away, Chris. I had to – for Elijah's own sake, whatever he might believe. And I'm afraid that right now he only believes that I've betrayed him, and how can I blame him for feeling betrayed?

I promised Elijah, I swore to him, that we would always be a family, that this would always be his home, no matter where his life's journey took him. But last night I broke that promise. I called Mack, he came and collected Elijah and Tom and their things and drove them away.

Why? Because I discovered something yesterday that has completely shattered me. When I tell you what it is, will you be able to forgive me? Will I ever be able to forgive myself? Maybe there are some sins that don’t deserve absolution, no matter what Father Michael might say.

I always knew that one day I'd fall from the pedestal Elijah set me on, only I never imagined I'd fall so far or so low or feel so bitterly ashamed.

The day had started out with so much anticipation and excitement. We'd begun planning Bella's party several weeks ago. I say we, although Elijah is the one who did the bulk of the work. He threw himself into the preparations wholeheartedly -- hell, he even designed the invitations on the computer. You know I’m complete shit at stuff like that, so I was happy to leave everything in his capable hands. But even if I weren’t shit at it, he was enjoying himself so much that I’d have let him do it anyway. A labor of love, that’s what it was for him. He loves our girls so much. So fucking much. As they love him.

*

*

*

I'm sorry. This is proving even harder than I thought it would be. A cowardly part of me doesn't want to tell you what happened, but how can I live with myself if I don't? Over all these months, writing to you has been not only my therapy, but my salvation. It would be a betrayal of everything we meant to each other to leave it unwritten. So, though I fear I will see your eyes fill with sorrow and disgust, I will continue, in as much of an orderly fashion as I'm capable of right now.

Bella not surprisingly wanted a My Little Pony theme, and I took a ride up to the Party City in Greenwood last week and about bought the place out. I admit I went a little crazy, but it seemed as if at last we could celebrate an occasion without an oppressive weight of grief clouding it. I wanted the party to be perfect for her.

We were crazy busy the day before, getting things ready -- cooking, cleaning, decorating. Elijah baked a giant batch of cupcakes for the children to decorate, and I filled the My Little Pony piñata with candy and hung it in the back yard. We'd decided on a simple treasure hunt for the main activity, and I drew the maps after Elijah and Lizzy hid the 'booty', in the afternoon while Bella was down for her nap.

Whatever last minute preparations needed doing we took care of in the morning, and Allie helped Bella get dressed while Elijah and I put the food out. We worked together as a family. It was comfortable, nice, and I didn't have a single premonition of what was to come.

Our guests arrived around twelve-thirty, nine children and half a dozen parents, and pretty soon it was, as you can imagine, chaos -- mostly controlled chaos, but we're talking three and four year-olds here. Although for the most part they got on well and conflicts were minimal, I was glad I'd bought plenty of beer and wine for the adults. They seemed to appreciate it. I know I did.

Even in the midst of the madness, I was struck by Elijah's ease, greater than I'd ever seen in a social setting. It was because of the children. He relates to kids in a manner he doesn't seem able to with adults. He lets down his guard and doesn't worry about how he should act because he never had the chance to learn, living the life he did. Watching him with the kids -- helping them decorate cupcakes or swing at the piñata -- filled me with the strangest mix of emotions: tenderness, protectiveness, love ... and desire. You see, my eyes were fully opened at the fireworks, Chris, and I can't look at him now without seeing his beauty and desirability.

Oh shit. Shit. Past tense, I should be putting that in the past tense, because I can't allow myself to look at him that way any longer. Oh Chris, what the fuck am I going to do? I told him that I would never keep him from seeing the girls. How could I? He needs them and they need him. But how will I manage to keep my emotions in check when I see him again? My eyes were opened and my body awakened. I can't simply will them to sleep again.

*

*

*

I've been to check on the girls, who are thankfully sleeping, although I expect it's as much from emotional exhaustion as anything. For the first time since he left, I looked in Elijah’s room. He took almost nothing with him, Chris. Of course there wasn't time for him to pack up all his belongings, and he had Tom to think of. But I hate to think of him going back to where he was when he came to us, with only a backpack, a few clothes and his CD player to his name. I understand him well enough to know that he'll resist taking anything he doesn't think he has a right to, like his computer. So I expect the only answer will be to box them up myself and bring them over to Mack's. It will be a part of my punishment and a deserved one.

*

*

*

I've been thinking about Icarus, who failed to heed his father’s warning and flew too near the sun, so that the wax holding his wings together melted and he plummeted into the water and drowned. How many times have I taught that myth in class? If anyone should understand the dangers of hubris, it’s me.

But like Icarus I flew too near the sun, and I crashed, too.

I honestly thought I had my shit together, Chris. I thought that the resolution I’d made a few weeks ago after discovering I was in love with Elijah was holding firm. I thought I could handle it, living with him day in and day out, but content with nothing more than friendship. I even foolishly allowed myself to dream: to imagine a time, some months in the future, when I might be able to move forward, to let go of grief and guilt and fear, and perhaps, when enough time had passed, to woo Elijah and see if I could win his love.

Despite everything, I have tried to remain optimistic for the sake of the girls, tried to believe that someday I would, if not fully recover, because I don't see how I ever can fully recover from your death, find contentment and even joy in my life. It seemed that inch by inch, I was moving in that direction. All those baby steps I've mentioned, remember? And largely it was because of Elijah, who I called my Clarence, the one sent to show me everything I still had to be grateful for and live for.

Elijah, who was abandoned and used and abused, but somehow rose above it all with a courage and grace that humbled me.

Until I discovered that I used and abused him, too.

Here is the shameful confession I have to make to you, Chris: last New Year's Eve, after I came home from the Shoemakers’ open house, drunk, I had sex with Elijah.

For all my pompous, self-important, self-congratulatory talk, I am no different from any of those other men. The truth is that I'm worse, because I set myself up as their better, as the person who had only Elijah's best interests at heart, who would never take advantage of him. But I did, only it wasn't until last night that I remembered any of it.

After the party was over and the guests had left, Bella was cranky -- too much sugar and too much excitement. I took her off to her bedroom for a nap, although she was loathe to go and even more loathe to get in bed. But I rocked her and sang to her and eventually she fell asleep. She was still wearing her new dress -- My Little Pony of course, white and gold with pink frills -- and her elbow length pink gloves. Some battles aren't worth fighting, and at least she agreed to take off her sparkly pink slippers. She wouldn't relinquish the giant stuffed panda bear one of her friends gave her as a present either, and fell asleep with it clutched in her arms. I wish you could have seen our little sleeping beauty, Chris ... but then maybe you did.

When I went downstairs, I discovered Elijah outside, trash bag in hand, clearing up the not inconsiderable mess. As I knew he had to go into the restaurant for his shift shortly, I said, "Leave it. You've done plenty, Elijah. Take a break."

I got two of the few remaining beers from the cooler and handed him one. Then I collapsed in a deck chair and Elijah did, too. Tom had crept cautiously outside, after making certain the coast was clear, and he was watching Shrek, who was growling and wrestling a length of pink crepe streamer.

"Bella asleep?" Elijah asked.

"Reluctantly, but yes, she is. Victory is mine." I raised my beer in triumph.

He laughed and saluted me. "It was a brilliant party, Sean. Everyone had a fantastic time."

"Including you?" I said, although I knew the answer. But I wanted to hear it from him, to see his eyes light up with that rare, uncomplicated happiness that I had come to crave like a drug.

"Yeah," he said. "Definitely including me." But instead of uncomplicated happiness, something infinitely sad filled his eyes, and he started picking at the damp label on the beer bottle.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

Predictably he answered, "Nothing."

"Elijah, it's not nothing. Tell me."

He made a small shrugging movement. "It’s just that I can’t help thinking about Kim, how much she would have loved a party like this. She was so sweet and she never got shit." His gaze was on Shrek and I knew he was remembering the kitten he and Kim had brought back to their foster home and tried to hide, with tragic results.

"I never asked you," I said, suddenly struck by the thought, "but did you ever find out what happened to Kim?"

Elijah shook his head. "I thought sometimes about trying to find out, but I was too much of a selfish shit. I should have, though."

"Don't be hard on yourself,” I said gently. “You had your own problems to deal with.”

"Maybe, but hers were worse." He sighed. "I'm sorry. Only I have so much now, Sean, and sometimes it doesn't seem fair."

"Not from where I'm sitting. Elijah, you deserve every single good thing you have, and much, much more."

At that his troubled expression cleared and he smiled. “Thanks to you.”

That smile ... it went straight to my heart, Chris. But his thanks only fill me with bitterness now.

Then he looked at his watch and said, “I better go change for work.” He got up and surveyed the yard with a rueful expression. “I’m sorry I can’t stay to help clean up.”

“Don’t worry -- I’ll make sure it’s here waiting for you when you get back,” I joked, and the last thing I heard before he left was his rare and precious giggle.

When will I hear it again?

I finished my beer, picked up the trash bag and got busy with the cleaning up. Tempting though it was to leave the mess until the next day, I knew I’d regret it if I did. Allie and Lizzy had gone over to the Jamiesons’ -- I don’t know if I ever mentioned that they put in a swimming pool last year -- and they came home a little while later, just as Bella woke up from her nap. Together we finished picking up the yard, discovering a few pieces of treasure along the way that had somehow been overlooked. We had a late dinner of leftovers, not that there was a lot left over, and then the girls had an early night. We were all tired, but it was a good kind of tired.

As usual I waited up for Elijah to get back from the restaurant. I thought about writing to you, but I felt too wrung out to do justice to a letter, so I decided to put it off until today. Instead I went into the family room and turned on CNN to catch up on the day’s news. I sat down on the couch and pretty soon I dozed off.

A hand gently shaking my shoulder woke me from a sound sleep. “Elijah?” I mumbled. I was groggy and disoriented, swimming up from what seemed fathoms deep.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he said. “Sorry to wake you, but I didn’t think you’d want to spend the night sleeping on the sofa.”

What happened next I can only blame on my disorientation. It never would have happened if I’d had my wits about me, and maybe everything would have turned out differently. But my guard was down, and Elijah was bending over me and he was looking at me with so much tenderness, exactly the way you would have. So I did what I would have done if it had been you, Chris. I did it without thinking. I cupped my hand at the back of his neck and drew him down -- and I kissed him.

He didn’t resist. I’ve played that moment over and over in my mind, and I’m certain of that much. Everything else is a blur. All I know is that the next moment he was on the couch with me and I was lying on top of him, kissing him as if I was starving, and god, I might have been.

And then Elijah whispered my name. “Sean.”

One word. That’s all he said. But it changed everything. Suddenly it was New Year’s Eve and I was sleeping off a drunk and having a dream about you, about making love to you. At first I couldn’t figure out what was going on. It was as if past and present were all mixed up. Why was I thinking about New Year’s Eve? Until I realized, with a sickening sense of shock, that this was not the first time Elijah had said my name like that. It was not the first time I had kissed him or lain on top of him on the couch.

It hadn’t been a dream at all, Chris. I had made love that night -- but not to you. It had been Elijah.

I pushed myself up and off and stood staring down at him. My memory of the events of that night was sketchy, but enough had returned to leave me horrorstruck and shaken.

“Sean, what is it? What’s wrong?” Elijah said, sitting up.

“What happened that night?” I demanded. “Tell me what happened.”

“What night? What are you talking about?” Elijah asked, but I could see a sudden wariness in his expression. It was clear he knew exactly what I was talking about, and my heart sank.

“New Year’s Eve. Tell me what happened on New Year’s Eve.” Bits and pieces were beginning to coalesce, like a jigsaw puzzle nearly finished. I wanted to deny the picture they were forming, but I couldn’t.

He went very pale and still, as he had New Year's morning when I’d apologized to him for crying on his shoulder, but he said, “Nothing happened. You came home drunk and fell asleep on the sofa.”

“Don’t lie to me!” I almost shouted the words, Chris. I was so freaked out by what I was remembering. Then I grabbed his shoulders and roughly shook him. “Tell me what happened.”

I could see my near-violence was scaring him, but I didn’t care. I had to hear the truth from his lips.

He went limp in my grasp and his eyes filled with tears. “We had sex.”

I let go of him as if he were on fire. I sat down on the edge of the couch and covered my face with my hands. “Oh Jesus,” I said. “Jesus.” I remembered waking up the next morning with an odd sense of calm -- but it wasn’t because I’d spilled my guts to Elijah about you and the accident. It was because I’d gotten my rocks off having sex with a young man I’d known for barely a week. I can’t even begin to describe the emotions I felt then, Chris, but I’m certain you can imagine them.

“Sean, you were hurting so badly,” I heard Elijah say. “I didn’t think it would matter. You...” He hesitated and then added in a near whisper, “You called me Chris. You didn’t even know it was me.”

I raised my head and looked at him in disbelief. “Is that supposed to make me feel better? Is it?” My voice rose. “That I forced you to have sex me, thinking it was my dead wife?” Tears started running down my face. Never, not once, not even after you died, have I ever felt such complete despair as I did at that moment, fully understanding what I had done.

“But you didn’t force me. Sean, it wasn’t like that. I didn’t mind. You’d been so kind to me, it seemed little enough to do for you.” Elijah moved, sliding off the couch and kneeling in front of me. “Please,” he implored, making a motion as if to touch me, but stopping. God knows what I’d have done if he had touched me right then. “I’m sorry. I didn’t understand how you'd feel about it.”

It was the bitter end, Chris, Elijah apologizing to me for my misdeed. “You still don’t,” I said quietly, getting to my feet. I knew then what I had to do, I had to send him out of harm’s way. “You have to leave,” I went on. “I’m going to call Mack. He’ll put you up, I’m sure, until you can find your own place to live.”

Elijah made a sound then that I’ll never forget, like some wild creature that has just been shot. “No.” It was a cry. “Sean, no. Please, don’t do this. Please.” He let out a sob. “I’m begging you.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, “but I have to.”

“But I love you,” he said, raising his hands in supplication, like a prisoner at the bar. “I love you so much. I’ll do anything you want, be whatever you want, if you’ll only let me stay ...”

“Elijah, don't. Please.” I couldn’t bear his supplication, his desperation. I could feel myself weakening at the same time as I felt even more strongly that I was making the only possible decision I could, for both of us. He may think he loves me, but that isn't love, making yourself into what someone else wants.

“It will never happen again, I promise.” He was openly crying now. “You can trust me, I swear. Just please, please don’t send me away.”

“You don’t understand,” I said again. “It’s not you I don’t trust: it’s me. I’m sorry, Elijah, but my mind is made up."

I left him kneeling there, sobbing, and went and called Mack. I could barely hit the buttons, my hand was shaking so hard.

When I returned, Elijah was on his feet. His shoulders were slumped and his head bowed. He looked utterly defeated, as he had the day I met him in St. Cecelia’s. The boxer against the ropes, all the fight beaten out of him. He’d stopped crying, but his livid face and his haunted eyes were far worse than tears. But in all honesty, Chris, I couldn’t feel anything right then. I was simply numb, numb with horror at what I’d done, at how I’d used Elijah and betrayed you.

“Mack’s on his way,” I said dully. “Go and pack. I’ll wait for you by the front door.” He started to move, stiffly, as if every muscle hurt. “Elijah,” I added. “I want you to take Tom. He belongs with you.”

He didn’t say a word, just left and went upstairs. He was back ten minutes later with his backpack, a large shopping bag and the cat carrier. Tom’s bewildered face peered out from it and he meowed plaintively, clearing sensing something was wrong.

We stood by the door in utter silence, but it was a silence crawling with unspoken words. For once, I couldn’t voice a single one of them. None would mend the hurt I’d done to him, back in January and now. There was an unreality about what was happening, until I heard the sound of an approaching car. A few seconds letter the engine went silent; a door slammed.

Elijah said in a small voice, “Will I be allowed to ... to see the girls again?”

I felt sick. “Of course. You can see them as often as you want. You’re still a part of their lives and you always will be, Elijah. I would never keep you away from them. They’d be heartbroken to lose you.”

“And ... and you? Will I still be a part of your life?”

“I can’t answer that question right now,” I said. “I just don’t know.” I opened the door so Mack wouldn’t ring the bell and risk waking one of the girls, potentially making a terrible situation even more terrible. Already I was dreading the morning, when I would have to tell them the news.

Mack was on the stoop when I opened the door. He glanced quickly from me to Elijah and back, but he didn’t ask any questions. I suppose our faces said it all. He just picked up the cat carrier and said gently, “Come on, Elijah.”

And that was it. Elijah followed after him, they got in the car and they drove away.

He was gone.

*

*

*

The house is cold, Chris, cold as I recall it being in the days after you died. I know it's not the same, because Elijah hasn't truly left us, but my heart doesn't seem to understand the difference right now. All it knows is that it is bereft a second time.

Was it only yesterday that I sat in the yard with Elijah and he said that he had so much it didn’t seem fair? I told him that he deserved every single good thing, and so he does. Certainly he deserves better than a man who would promise him refuge and then use him as I did. Maybe you would say: but you were drunk, Sean, you didn’t know what you were doing. Does that somehow absolve me of responsibility for my actions, Chris? Does it? I don't believe it does. It's impossible to go back and change the past, but at least I can swear by all I hold sacred never to use Elijah like that again.

If I thought when I started writing this all down that it might lead me to some useful insight, I was wrong. I don’t know where I go from here, Chris. I suppose the only thing to do is to struggle on one day at a time, as I did after you died. Perhaps in time the path to wisdom will reveal itself to me, but right now the girls need you looking out for them more than ever, and so does Elijah. Will you do that for me? Please?

And I hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me. Whether I can ever forgive myself is another matter.

Love,

Sean


	12. Letter 12: Labor Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sean struggles with his emotions in the aftermath of Elijah's departure.

September 3rd

My darling Chris,

School starts tomorrow. Funny, I could barely face returning last year, but this year it's a relief. I doubt I've ever needed the distraction more. Which hardly sounds fair or kind to my students, to label them a distraction, but you understand me, I'm sure. 

Impossibly, Bella is starting pre-K, Lizzy third grade, and Allie seventh grade. Can you believe it? I spent an afternoon at the mall with them and your mother last weekend, buying back to school supplies. All the while I was thinking that this is yet another journey our beloved daughters will take without you. It weighed heavily on my spirits, Chris. Every milestone is a painful reminder of what once was, and of what beckons but lies just out of reach.

Which leads me to Elijah. All roads lead to Elijah now. I suppose more than anything you will want me to tell you about him, what is happening with him, with us. I'm sorry that I haven't been able to bring myself to set pen to paper since Bella's birthday. But I think at last I've arrived at a place where I can do so. Prepare yourself, though: it may take a while to struggle through the muddle of my thoughts and emotions.

In the aftermath of his departure, I have been tormented by doubts and questions - endless questions, some of which may never have answers.

Did I make a mistake in offering Elijah a home with us, Chris? Was I naive? Should I have sent him on his way the next morning with a few hundred dollars in his pocket and my best wishes? Certainly at the time there were those, like Sue, who thought I was crazy and predicted disaster. But with every fiber of my being I believe that I acted rightly and I don't - won't - regret my decision. 

Looking back to December, to where we were as a family recovering from your loss and to where Elijah was, on the run from his past, how can I regret it? If I had turned my back on him then, what sort of person would that have made me, especially knowing what I do now of his life before he met us? And I hold hard to my vision of you in the church that day, to my soul-deep belief at the time that I was acting as you would have wanted. No, taking Elijah in was no mistake. It was an act of faith: in God, in you and in myself at a time when my faith had taken a terrible beating, as bad as the physical beating that left Elijah battered and bruised. 

Less certain for me is the answer to this question: did I make the right decision in asking Elijah to leave? I don't expect you to provide the answer. At the very moment I desperately needed you close to me, I felt you more distant than you had ever been. I couldn't see you that night, Chris, couldn't sense your presence. You had no guidance to offer me, for good or bad. Nor have you since. I suppose some battles must be fought alone, and this is one. 

My hope is that before too long, the path ahead will become clear. I love Elijah; that at least I know for certain. I used to believe that love was enough, that everything else would fall into place if I trusted in it. But I can't trust in love now, not after the life Elijah led before he came here. Loving him - allowing myself to love him - could be the worst thing anyone has ever done to him. Because I have a choice, and if I knowingly choose the path of selfishness, what does that make me? Bad enough I already used him _un_ knowingly. 

Elijah says that he loves me, Chris. Therein lies the deepest temptation: to take him at his word. God, I am tempted. It gnaws at me, the knowledge that I could have him tomorrow, tonight, _now_ if I picked up the phone and called. It also sets me very much on my guard. The devil is perched on my shoulder, slyly whispering, but I must ignore his temptation.

In the sleepless hours of that night I nearly despaired, imagining the level of betrayal he was feeling, recalling how many other betrayals he'd experienced in his life. It wasn't the blackest night of my life, but it was black enough. I was desperately afraid that Elijah would take off and vanish, perhaps even go back to his old life in New York. 

I prayed for Elijah, Chris, prayed as I haven't since before you died, putting my faith not in God alone, but in Elijah's love for the girls, praying that love would anchor him here. And it did, and thankfully still does. Thin and frail the anchor might be, but so far it holds fast.

Elijah has just moved into his own place. I helped him with the search and the move - expiation for my sins, perhaps - and maybe if I tell myself often enough that it's the best thing for him, I'll believe it. But it fucking hurts, Chris, to think of him living anywhere but here. _This_ is his home, as the girls tell me almost every day. They haven't given up hope that their father will find some way to fix this. They don't know that I'm the reason things are broken.

But I have to backtrack, to the morning after Elijah left.

The emotional scene that erupted when I told the girls that he and Tom had moved out is still much too bitter and painful a memory to share fully, even with you. It was too reminiscent of the day I had to tell them they'd lost their mother. But in the end we survived it - barely.

Which leads to the next question that has troubled me: was I wrong to let the girls become so attached to Elijah and he to them? You no doubt will ask me how I intended to prevent it. Short of banishing Elijah from our lives months ago, I have no answer. I expected to love Elijah, but I never expected to fall in love with him. I couldn't imagine any reason not to welcome him into our family. 

But for good or ill, Elijah has entwined himself in our lives so tightly that to tear him completely away would cause the girls unbearable heartbreak and irreparable harm. Whatever the situation between Elijah and me, whatever the cost to myself, the girls need him and he needs them. I cannot, I will not keep them apart. To do so would be cruel beyond belief, and God knows they have suffered enough. And so he is still in their lives, to the extent that we can manage it without the two of us being in the same room together for more than a few minutes at a time.

God, rereading that, I sound like a parent sharing custody after a nasty divorce. Nothing could be further from the truth. It's just too fucking hard, Chris, now that my eyes are open to what he means to me. If there's anything left of that pedestal Elijah set me on, I'm struggling desperately to keep my perch there and not fall completely into ruin.

And here I am, I'm getting ahead of myself again. If only I could believe that you're smiling about it.

Later that unspeakably awful morning, Mack called. I'd been desperate to hear from him, and my hands were shaking so badly that I could barely hold the phone, for fear of what he might say. He couldn't understand the depth of my fear, or its root cause, but he obviously understood enough to say at once, "He's okay, Sean. He's going into work with me later."

"Thank god," I whispered, and I was still shaking, but with relief. "Thank god."

"Do you want to talk to him?" Mack's voice was gentle.

Did I? Of course I did, only I had no faith in my strength or self-control, not to beg him to come home. "I don't think that would be wise. Maybe later."

"Okay, but _I_ want to talk to _you_. I'm coming by after the restaurant closes."

"Is that a threat?" I said, with a feeble attempt at humor.

"Of course," he joked then added seriously, "Sean, I want to help you sort things out if I can."

I didn't see any hope of that, but I thanked him, and after we rang off, I realized how much I needed him, because the truth is that I felt more alone right then than I can ever recall feeling, even after you died. The usual circle of friends and family is denied to me in this crisis. The only one I can turn to for support is Mack. 

You will think me ridiculous, Chris, but when I heard Mack's car pull up in the driveway that night, my heart gave a leap. How many times had he dropped Elijah off after his shift at the restaurant? I went to open the door, half fearful, half hoping... but Mack was, of course, alone. I wondered if he'd told Elijah where he was going, then realized that I had no right to wonder. Elijah's life was no longer my business - and I was the one who had made it so. God, it hurt, Chris. How much it hurt must have been pretty obvious, because Mack took one look at me and wrapped me in a long, hard hug. 

That was too much for my tenuous self-control, and I wept.

After I managed to pull myself together, Mack steered me into the kitchen and sat me at the table.

"I'm going to make us some coffee," he said. "Even if it means we both stay up all night."

"Trust me, I can use the caffeine," I replied, slumping in my chair. I rested my aching head in my hand and watched Mack move around the kitchen, unfairly wishing that he was Elijah. Wishing that I could turn the clock back twenty-four hours and make it all go away. You'd think I'd have learned my lesson by now, wouldn't you? There _is_ no turning back the clock. Not ever.

Mack handed me my coffee and sat down opposite me.

"How is Elijah?" I blurted out.

"Truthfully? He's like a man who's been shot but is still too numb to feel the pain." 

It was no more than I expected, but my heart ached for Elijah, for what I was putting him through. I stared into my coffee mug, haggard and exhausted and filled with self-loathing. It was my fault, all of it, and God, Chris, I felt so wretched.

And then Mack said softly into the silence, shocking the hell out of me, "You finally figured out you're in love with Elijah, didn't you? That's what precipitated this."

My head shot up. "How did you..."

"Know? Sean, I've seen how you look at him. I'm not completely blind."

I sat for a while absorbing this. He'd known before I did. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Would you have believed me if I did?" Mack countered.

I turned the hot mug around and around in my hands, but it couldn't warm their coldness. Honesty compelled me to admit, "No, I wouldn't have believed you. Like they say, 'There are none so blind as those who will not see.'" I huffed a bitter laugh. "That might have been written specifically about me, Mack."

"Sometimes we're the last to see what's going on inside us," Mack said. "That's especially true for you, because you always take care of everyone else first."

_Not always_. I thought with a pang of New Year's Eve. "It was a... shock," I said honestly then quickly added, "Not because he's male, Mack. But Chris hasn't even been gone two years." Half-truths. I seem to be dealing in them a lot lately. Of course that's part of it, but ultimately the least significant part. Love doesn't go by some preordained schedule. 

Mack echoed my thought. "Love doesn't give a shit about time, Sean. And who's to say what the right amount of time is to mourn someone we've lost? But I have to be honest. Right from the beginning I didn't foresee things ending well for you and Elijah."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I said with gallows humor, but Mack's honesty hurt.

Mack reached across the table and touched my arm. "I didn't mean it that way. Only I know you, Sean. You'd never risk starting a relationship with Elijah when the consequences to the girls and your job were likely to be catastrophic. You would never put your own feelings before theirs. If you did, you wouldn't be _you_ , the brother I've always looked up to and admired."

I was touched, but Mack couldn't have been more mistaken, and I couldn't let him give me credit I didn't deserve. "You're wrong," I said. "If the circumstances were different, I wouldn't hesitate to be in a relationship with Elijah."

"Okay, you've lost me," Mack said. "What circumstances?"

"Circumstances with Elijah," I replied evasively. "Understand something, Mack: I'd sacrifice my job in a heartbeat to be with him. And as for the girls, what sort of role model would it make me if I let the narrow-minded prejudices of others dictate my life?" 

I thought about Laura Sandberg, how she'd crow over having been proven right after all. I thought, too, of Brittany and the other kids in my classes who thought Elijah was 'cool' and seemed to have no problem with the idea of us being a couple. But that was listening to the sly whisper of temptation again, offering justifications for what I wanted.

"You've always been an idealist, Sean." Mack shook his head. "But if what you're saying is true, then what's holding you back? You can't possibly believe that Elijah doesn't feel the same way. He practically worships the ground you walk on."

No doubt Mack thought he was helping, Chris, but he couldn't have said anything more calculated to confirm my worst fears about Elijah's feelings for me. Billy had said almost the exact same thing once. I wasn't the only one who saw it.

"Worship isn't love," I replied. "It's a huge mistake to confuse one for the other." 

I'll give Mack credit. He wanted to argue with me, but he held back. What he eventually said was, "It _can_ work both ways; love can be mistaken for worship. And have you ever considered that it's possible to feel both? One doesn't preclude the other."

"Perhaps not, but there's more to it than that." There's my betrayal of you and Elijah both, Chris. Mack wouldn't call me an idealist if he knew what I've done, how I used Elijah for my own selfish gratification. 

"Then tell me," Mack said. "Let me help you."

"I can't," I replied quietly. "I wish I could, but..." I shrugged, lifted my hands in a helpless gesture. 

Mack studied me. "If you aren't protecting the girls or your job, then you must be protecting Elijah." I made an involuntary sound, and he went on, "It's all right, I'm not going to push you to tell me. But I'm here if you need me, Sean. I love you, man."

"I love you, too, Mackenzie." My throat was tight with more tears. Surely I should have run out of them by now, but I seem to have an inexhaustible supply. "And the best way you can help me is to help Elijah, keep him safe."

"You don't even have to ask," Mack said. "Elijah is a good guy and I consider him a friend. He and Tom have a home with me for as long as it takes for him to find his own digs."

We left it at that, my anxiety over Elijah's immediate situation assuaged, but my sense of isolation only partially eased. You are the only one in whom I can confide fully, Chris, and yet my betrayal of you weighs so heavily on my conscience that it seems wrong to expect anything from you but scorn. Can you ever forgive me, Chris? I listen in the silence of the room, hoping for a sign, but you are silent. 

*

*

*

Though the girls were very unhappy, they had no reason to believe that Elijah couldn't still be an active part of their lives. They were on the phone to him that first evening, wishing him and Tom goodnight, telling him that they missed them both. Lizzy even held the phone to Shrek's ear so Elijah could tell him goodnight. God. God. 

But it got worse, because the next thing I knew Lizzy was handing the phone to me. "Daddy, say goodnight to Elijah."

Well, what could I do? I took it, said, "Sorry." Was it an apology for the situation Lizzy unwittingly put us into, or for everything else? I'm not sure.

"It's okay," Elijah said, but it was screamingly obvious that it wasn't. He sounded like an automaton.

"Elijah," I began then stopped. For once, I was completely at a loss. Me, the talkative one, the guy who never shuts up, didn't know what to say. So I did what Lizzy told me to, said a quick "Goodnight," and disconnected.

Over the next few days, we managed a sort of normalcy. As I struggled to maintain the status quo, it became ridiculously apparent how much I'd grown to rely on Elijah over the eight months he lived with us. With the scales dropped from my eyes, I can see that I allowed - no, encouraged - him to assume your place in my life and the girls'. That he assumed it willingly, even joyfully, isn't the point. Nor can I defend myself by claiming that it was unwitting. On some level I had to know that he was filling your role, and the truth is, Chris, I wanted it. I still want it. I want him. I'm haunted by the times he told me that his only ambition in life is to have a family to love and care for, because I'm afraid that I've made it impossible for him to find that family anywhere but here. 

And every night, the girls call Elijah. Every night they put me on the phone. Every night I say goodnight to Elijah, as if we were the fucking Waltons. 

It's agony.

*

*

*

Your parents are far too smart not to have figured out straightaway that Elijah's leaving wasn't his decision and that some crisis precipitated it. How much they suspect of the truth is hard to say. Probably more than I wish they did. I was guarded in what I told them, but they've accepted my half-truths, whether they fully buy them or not. I'm not someone who likes to deal in half-truths, especially when I know that your parents genuinely care about Elijah. He's become family to them, too.

In the end all your mother said to me, very gently, was: "I will admit that Elijah's dependence on you and the girls _has_ worried me, Sean. Perhaps a little distance isn't a bad thing, at least for a while." 

I've tried to convince myself that she's right. Sometimes I even manage it. But then I sit alone in the evening after the girls have gone to bed, with no company save the television, and I miss him so badly that my only answer is to get on the treadmill and run, run until I'm rubber-legged and too exhausted to think or feel anything. 

*

*

*

Elijah has his own car now, a used Honda Civic. When Mack told me Elijah was car hunting, I was concerned that he'd have trouble finding something safe and reliable on his limited budget. Which is when having taught the kids of just about every family in town paid off. Charlie Pearson - he's the father of Dawn, April and Ted (you'll remember April - she was the class valedictorian, went on to Yale and is now in Harvard Med School) - owns the Honda dealership in town, and I gave him a call. Mack and I worked it out with him to make sure that Elijah got that safe, reliable and affordable car. Elijah doesn't know, of course, that we had anything to do with it, and he never will. But I don't have to tell you why it was so important for my peace of mind, especially as Lizzy and Allie immediately began clamoring for him to take them for a ride in his new car. 

From my standpoint, at least, it _has_ made things easier. He picks up them and takes them to the mall or the playground or a movie. Sometimes he brings Tom here for play dates with Shrek. I have minimal involvement in their outings, other than to help him transfer the car seats from the van to his car and load Bella's stroller in the trunk. After which I kiss the girls, tell them to have fun, and wave with forced cheerfulness as they drive away. When they get back, Elijah always has a ready excuse for why he can't come in. In some ways, this is tougher to bear than anything else, because I know he's doing it to make things easier on me. Would it make it easier if instead he blamed me, even a little? Because I don't think he does and I keep thinking how unworthy I am.

When he came to take the girls for the promised ride, it was... Oh hell, I'll be honest. It came near to breaking me, Chris. Elijah was no longer numb, as Mack had described him, but obviously feeling the pain. It was the first time I'd set eyes on him since that night, and it was a shock. He was composed, but incredibly pale, and the expression on his face when the girls ran to him and hugged him made me think of an imprisoned man given a precious hour of freedom before being locked away again. But I suppose for him, it was exactly like that.

When the girls were in the car, Allie in the back with Bella, and Lizzy in the passenger seat, I said, "Elijah, hang on a moment."

He paused with his hand on the handle of the driver's side door, avoided my eyes as he said, "I'll be careful, I promise. I won't let anything happen to them." 

I shook my head in vehement disagreement. "I'm not worried about that. I know you're a careful drive," I replied. "I just..." I made an abortive gesture with my hands. "Everything happened so fast that night. Elijah, I'm sorry. I hope..." But that was stupid. In the face of his pallor, the deep shadows under his eyes, what could I hope? That he was happy? Contented?

"It's not your fault," Elijah said, and he looked at me then and his eyes were the saddest thing I've ever seen. "Thank you for not cutting me off completely. It-," he swallowed hard, "it's more than I deserve."

God, it was almost impossible to keep from pulling him into my arms, giving him comfort that I had no right to give him, but I didn't. I said, "It's everything you deserve. Don't _ever_ think otherwise. You're still a part of this family, Elijah."

Elijah's hand was clenching and unclenching on the handle. "Sean, I - I don't think I can deal with this right now. I'd better go." He sounded almost desperate.

"Yes, of course. The girls..." My throat closed. They were watching us, Bella and Lizzy without any consciousness of the tension between me and Elijah, but Allie... Her brows were knit and I knew that she was aware of it.

Elijah glanced behind him. "Yeah, the girls." He opened the door, and as he climbed in the car I said quietly, "Have a good time." Which on a list of stupid things to say, probably was at the top. When they got back a couple hours later, I managed not to put my foot in it again and the girls' excited chatter covered the awkwardness between us. But as I watched Elijah drive away, back to Mack's house, a voice deep inside me kept saying over and over, _This is wrong. This is so fucking, fucking wrong._

*

*

*

We spent the second week of August at the lake. 'We' being me, the girls and your parents. It was a last minute decision and we were lucky that a cancellation opened up a houseboat for us. I wasn't emotionally ready to go back there last summer, but Allie and Lizzy asked me multiple times if we could go this summer and I didn't have the heart to say no. Pakota Lake holds such wonderful memories for them, memories of you that I want them to hold onto forever. Traditions are important for children. You believed that as strongly as I do, and maintaining that connection to the place where you spent summers as a child matters deeply. So while left to myself I might have put it off another year, I couldn't do that to them. 

Would Elijah have gone with us if things hadn't changed? Silly question to which I know the answer; of course he would. He'd have protested, but I wouldn't have taken no for an answer. I've tried to make him part of our traditions because he came to us with nothing. 

As I expected, the girls protested when they found out Elijah wasn't going with us, even though it was framed by me in the excuse that someone had to babysit Shrek and who else could we trust to take care of him? And that is what Elijah did for that week, Chris: he lived in our house and babysat our kitten.

Sometimes I think about Dom and what I overheard him saying on Memorial Day, that I was a self-centered prick, ruining Elijah's life. I don't want to give his words any weight or power over me, but they've come back to haunt me. Perhaps it was wrong to ask him to housesit and I know it was a copout to let Allie be the one to do the asking. I despise parents who use their children to do their dirty work. Only there was absolutely no question of him refusing, and I thought it might be kinder coming from Allie. Copout or kindness? I wonder what you would say, Chris.

And speaking of Dom, I'm forgetting that there is news about him to report. A few weeks ago he quit his job at the restaurant and moved to Bloomington to be with Billy. Apparently Dom finally came to his senses, and they've healed the rift between them. I'm glad, but if I'm truthful, I'm even more relieved. I won't miss dealing with his thinly veiled dislike. Most of all, and perhaps unfairly, it relieves my fear that Elijah might turn to him for consolation. But I'll miss Billy, a genuinely nice man and someone who I think might have become a good friend. Whether Dom's leaving had anything to do with me and Elijah, I don't know, but I suspect it did. Yet more collateral damage for which I'm responsible.

*

*

*

But I've strayed from my narrative again. Let me get back to Pakota Lake. 

It's a curious thing, Chris, that I found returning to the place where you and I spent our summer vacations not a source of grief but of comfort. Maybe because our time there was purely happy, without the stress of day-to-day life: juggling schedules, paying bills, mowing the lawn. Or maybe I'm finally arriving at a place where memories can be healing instead of corrosive.

Sometimes I even discovered myself smiling when an image of you surfaced: diving off the houseboat into the lake, emerging laughing, your hair sleeked back. Or teaching Allie and Lizzy how to swim. Or dancing with your father to the Beach Boys as the sun went down. There was still an ache of loss, of course, but I found myself simply grateful to have experienced those moments, to have known and loved you.

It was the same for your parents, too, I think. For the first time since you left us, we were able to talk about you without fearing that the weight of our grief would crush us. It wasn't a conscious decision on any of our parts; nor am I foolish enough to believe that we've gotten entirely past that point. But we are healing and I no longer feel ashamed about it, as if somehow to be healed is to betray your memory and what you meant to me.

Where Elijah fits into this, I'm not sure, Chris. Oddly, he wasn't a topic of conversation with your parents during that week. I was prepared for it. You know how it is when we're at the lake, sitting at night under the stars after the girls are asleep, with all the time in the world for intimate conversations and the sharing of secrets you might not otherwise share. 

Sometimes when your dad and I were fishing for largemouth bass in one of the side creeks at daybreak, with the stillness of the water around us, the mist rising and only the birds for company, he'd look at me and I'd think, _This is it. He's going to ask about me and Elijah._ But he'd only say, "Let out a little more line, son," or "Looks like they're not biting this morning." Maybe he and your mother made a pact not to raise any difficult issues during vacation. If so, I'm grateful. Because I don't know what I would have told them when I haven't figured out any of this for myself yet. I can only hope that I do figure it out before too long. That conversation with your parents will eventually happen. They have the right to ask me and no longer accept the half-truths I gave them. 

The one person who _did_ bring up Elijah was Allie. A few days into our stay, your parents decided to take the girls for ice cream. I was deep into a reread of Chernow's biography of Hamilton, so I opted out. To my surprise, Allie said that she wanted to stay and finish her book. Harry Potter isn't usually competition for Libby's ice cream. 

But when the others were gone, having taken our ice cream orders with them, Allie put down _Goblet of Fire_ and came to me where I sat in my deck chair. 

"Daddy, can I talk to you?" she asked, looking as serious as I've ever seen her.

"Of course, sweetheart," I said, setting aside my book.

To my surprise, she climbed into my lap, something I thought she'd outgrown, and wrapped her arms around my neck. She didn't say anything immediately, and I wondered what thoughts were going through her brain. Allie's growing up, Chris. She has a mind and a life of her own, one I can't be part of. The shadow of adulthood, brought too near by your death, looms ever larger. Already I miss what's left of the child she is and will be - for a little while longer. But such is the natural order of things, and I wouldn't want it any other way.

Allie pressed her face into my neck. Her breath was warm and moist, the way it had been when she was an infant and colicky, and I carried her back and forth through the house, trying to calm her and let you get some rest. 

When she finally spoke, I realized just how right I'd been about her growing up. "Daddy," she said quietly, "do you love Elijah?"

I didn't even consider lying to her. "Yes," I replied into her hair. "Yes, I do love him."

"Then why did you let him leave? If you'd asked him to stay he would have, I know it. He loves you more than anybody in the whole world, and now he's sad and you're sad." She added plaintively, "Can't everything go back to the way it was?"

It's a wonder she didn't hear my heart cracking, Chris. "I wish it could, sweetheart, but life's not that simple," I said, stroking her hair. 

"Grown-ups always say stuff like that," Allie grumbled.

"Sorry." I had to laugh a little, despite everything, because I recall voicing the same complaint to my parents a time or two. "But unfortunately it's the truth. Sometimes the grown-up world can be a very complicated place."

"Is it because Elijah is a man?" she asked. "We talked about it - well, Lizzy and I did - and we don't care, Daddy. Some of the kids in school say being gay is wrong and they wouldn't want parents who are the same sex. But I don't agree, and I don't care what Aunt Sue says either. I love Elijah, and so do Lizzy and Bella. We want him to live with you and be our dad, too."

Well, that about did me in, I admit it. Being a parent is the most terrifying and frustrating and difficult job anyone can have, but it's the moments like these that make every terrifying, frustrating, difficult moment worth it. I was awed by our child, Chris, by her insight, her compassion, her strength.

My arms tightened around her and I said, "I promise, Allie, that it's not because of you or your sisters. Please don't ever think that. And I am so unbelievably proud of you at this moment, you have no idea. Your mother is just as proud, I know." I kissed her hair. "But I don't want you to cherish false hopes, sweetheart, and end up disappointed. I can't promise that Elijah will ever be your dad, not in the way you mean."

She considered this and then said, "But it _could_ happen, right?"

Could it? Hadn't I been asking myself that very same question ever since Elijah left? "I don't know, Allie, but perhaps," I temporized. To tell Allie no and break her heart was beyond me. And would it be the truth? I _don't_ know, and that if nothing else _is_ the truth.

My answer seemed to satisfy her, though. "Then I'll pray every night as hard as I can for it to come true, Daddy," she said, "and so will Lizzy and Bella. We'll ask Mom to help, because she doesn't want either of you to be sad."

Oh Chris. I don't know how I held it together. "No, I'm sure she doesn't want that." Nor do I think you do want us to be sad. But even if you listen to our daughters' petitions every night, there's no way for you to make it happen. I'm afraid it's up to me.

*

*

*

When we got home, Elijah was waiting by the door with Shrek and Tom. Though I limited the girls' access to the phone while we were gone, Elijah texted them every day to let them know how Shrek was doing. He always included a photo of the two cats, but never himself. I'm sure he knew that they'd show the photos to me. Even so, Shrek had to be passed from one to the other for hugs and kisses, and told how unfair it was that cats weren't allowed on the houseboat.

After the frenzy of greetings subsided, the girls insisted on giving Elijah the souvenirs they'd brought home for him. There were quite a few, some of them undeniably tacky, as resort souvenirs tend to be, although I made sure there was at least one 'real' gift for him. It was a blue chalcedony geode from Indiana Caverns, and he loved it as I knew he would. I said nothing as he turned it over in his fingers and examined it with fascination. It seemed better to let him believe the girls had chosen it.

When the girls went upstairs with your mother to unpack, I asked Elijah, "Did everything go okay?"

He nodded. "There are a few messages on the answering machine for you and I left all the mail on the kitchen counter. I also made some food that you'll find in the freezer: pasta sauce and casseroles. I didn't want to let stuff from the garden go to waste."

"I hope you took some for yourself like I told you to," I said. "That garden is your baby."

He didn't answer me, Chris, so I can only assume that he didn't take anything for himself. What he said was, "I put one of the casseroles in the refrigerator to thaw. I figured you wouldn't feel like cooking after your long drive."

Maybe his self-abnegation, which could only be driven by his sense that he didn't deserve even that much, was the reason I said, "Why don't you stay and have dinner with us? The girls have a million things stored up to tell you about their vacation."

Honestly, I thought he'd jump at the chance, Chris. I couldn't have been more wrong. From the expression in his eyes, you might have thought I'd struck him.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Sean," he said in a stifled voice. "Not when I'm back on the outside looking in. I know you're trying to be nice, but I - I can't bear it. I'm sorry." He turned away. "I'm going to put my things in the car."

A few minutes later he and Tom were gone, and I was left with a casserole that he'd made for us and a heart that felt as if a knife blade was lodged deep inside it.

*

*

*

Life got hectic with the run-up to the new school year starting in earnest. I went in most days to set up my classroom or attend one of the innumerable pre-school faculty meetings, and relied on your parents to take care of the girls. But I was aware that I needed to find another solution once school began, and I was running out of time. Yes, I could continue to rely on them, but they do have lives of their own and it's tiring for them, your mother particularly, given her diabetes. Bella will only be in preschool two mornings a week, Tuesday and Thursday, which is as much as I feel appropriate for her age, but she'll need to be driven there and picked up at noon. 

I was pretty well resigned to throwing myself on their mercy, when Elijah brought Tom over for a play date. I was about to make myself scarce when he asked if he could talk to me for a minute. 

"Of course," I said, although I was undeniably surprised. "Come in my office. We can hear ourselves think there." The racket from an excited kitten and three excited children was considerable.

I perched a hip on the edge of my desk, trying to act as if it were no big deal, but it was the first time since that night that Elijah had initiated a conversation with me, and I was beyond curious to know why he'd asked to speak with me. 

Elijah came only a few paces inside the room, which was probably just as well. If sometimes I've questioned the attraction I felt for Elijah, wondered if it might pass, the intensity of my reaction whenever I set eyes on him showed me in no uncertain terms that it was strong and enduring. I almost literally sat on my hands, Chris, so that I wouldn't be tempted to do anything stupid. I don't think I ever understood the truly terrifying power of desire until these past weeks.

"What do you want to talk to me about?" I asked.

"The girls will be starting school soon," Elijah began, almost as if he were reciting a rehearsed speech. "You'll need somebody to help out with them, and I want to do it. I don't have to go to work until four, so I'll be available. I can watch Bella, take her to preschool on Tuesday and Thursday, and stay until Allie and Lizzy get home from school." He looked at me with that sadness that tinges every interaction we have now. "It's what we would have done," he hesitated, "before. I don't see why we can't still do it, even if I don't live here now."

"Elijah," I began, but before I could say anything more, he jumped in.

"Sean, I know what you're going to say: that it's taking advantage of me, but it's _not_. I want to do this. Please, give me this much." Tears were actually sparkling in his eyes.

_How had we come to this?_ I thought. Elijah practically begging me again for something that he shouldn't have had to beg for. A dull throb began behind my eyes and I rubbed at them. I was tired of fighting a battle that had no winners, only losers. It _was_ taking advantage of him, but did it matter in the face of his misery? What point would it prove to tell him no? That I could be even crueler to him than I'd already been? 

I dropped my hand and sighed heavily. "All right," I said.

"Thank you," Elijah whispered, and brushed at a stray tear that I had caused to fall - and that, illogically, I wished I could wipe away. "And I promise, I'll stay out of your way." 

Lizzy started calling Elijah's name and he turned to go, but I stopped him. "Elijah, wait." He turned back and looked at me with a mixture of hope and fear. To be honest, I only stopped him because I couldn't bear for him to leave like that, not because I had anything particular to say. But the words came out as if I'd planned them all along.

"It's my turn to ask you for something," I said, "and that is for your patience. There's a lot I have to work through and I honestly don't know how long it will take for me to do that. But I'm trying, Elijah."

For the first time since that night, the brittle tension in his body seemed to relax its grip. "Mack said that I should give you time," Elijah offered hesitantly, as if he feared I'd be pissed off. 

"Did he?" Mack has always been the wiser one, Chris, the perceptive one. "Then listen to him, if you can't to me."

"E- _li_ -jah!" Lizzy called again.

For a long moment Elijah fixed me with his eyes, those extraordinary eyes, and there was more of hope than fear in them now. "I will, Sean, I promise," he said, a hint of vehemence in his voice, as if he were making a vow, and left the room.

And here's yet another question for you, Chris: was I wrong to offer him even that small measure of hope? I wish I knew.

*

*

*

There is a final piece of news to share with you, that I mentioned at the beginning of my letter: Elijah is no longer living with Mack, but has moved into his own place, as of this past Saturday. I heard through the grapevine that Etta Saunders's carriage house apartment was up for rent again, and it seemed ideal for Elijah. Or as ideal as any place can be that is not this house.

Mack went with Elijah to scope it out and introduce him to Mrs. Saunders, who you may recall seeing at the restaurant, where she takes her Sunday dinner every week and has for donkey's years, since her husband passed away. She's picky about her tenants, which is why they come and go on a regular basis. But she recognized Elijah from when he waited on her a couple times and fortunately had formed a very good opinion of him. She also happens to be a cat lover and had no objection to Tom. Elijah signed the lease the next day after Mack vetted it for him. Her place is on Elm Street, about halfway between our house and the restaurant, which will make it convenient for Elijah when he leaves here in the afternoons, because he'll need to drop off Tom and get changed for work.

The apartment is old but she's kept it up well. There's a modern kitchen and a decent size living room, in addition to a small bedroom and tiny bathroom. Between us, Mack and I were able to provide Elijah with most of the furniture he needs (nothing you'd be sorry to see go from here), and my mother, amazingly, gave him some of her extra kitchenware - pots, pans, plates and glasses, and so forth. She certainly has them and to spare, but getting her to give any of them up is another story. 

Elijah didn't put up much of a fight. He hasn't had a chance to save much money yet, and the rent, while reasonable enough, will take a good bite out of his salary each month. I'm trying not to dwell on the fact that if it weren't for me, he wouldn't be in this situation. 

Mack borrowed a box van from a friend and with help from Joe and Peter (I decided not to ask Ed as Sue would undoubtedly have come with him), we loaded it up several times and got Elijah's things moved. The girls didn't want to be left out of the fun, as they thought of it, so they stayed at the apartment with Elijah and helped him arrange things. When everything was moved and more or less in place, the pizzas Elijah had ordered from San Remo's arrived, along with beer for us and juice for the girls. 

Not surprisingly the first thing Elijah had done was hook up his iPod to some speakers, and what with the pizza and the music, there was almost a festive atmosphere. I even heard Elijah laugh once or twice, a sound I feared I might never hear again. It gives me hope that your mother was right and this will be good for him - for a while, at least.

But here is the last question for you, Chris: when we were all gone and Elijah was alone with Tom, did his laughter vanish, snuffed out like a candle? This isn't what he wants. It's what he's forced to accept, a sort of purgatory, where he will exist for as long as I keep him there. 

I began this letter with questions. I end it with... not hope, but perhaps an understanding of what is required of me right now. I asked Elijah to be patient with me. Your mother, Mack, even Allie, seem to have reached the same conclusion in their different ways. Patience is not, as you know better than anyone, one of my strengths. But perhaps my penance and eventual expiation will be found in exactly that: patience. I must put myself in a place where the truth can speak to me and abide there until it does.

So maybe after all you did have some answers for me, Chris. Maybe you haven't gone silent and I'm not completely alone in this struggle to find the right path. Maybe you've even forgiven me and I can finally forgive myself.

I hope so with all my heart.

I love and miss you always,

Sean


	13. Letter 13: Anniversary of Christine's Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected encounter in the cemetery tests Sean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This letter deals with themes of forgiveness and redemption. It's pretty intense and not perhaps the easiest read (certainly not the easiest write). But for Sean and Elijah, it's a giant step forward, so hopefully you'll forgive me for the rest.

October 7th

My darling Chris,

One of Father Michael's favorite aphorisms is that God never gives us more than we can handle. I suppose in a sense he's correct, for otherwise I doubt I could have survived losing you. But as far as I'm concerned, half the aphorism is missing: God never gives us more than we can handle _if_ we have help from those we love and who love us. And that was especially true today, because, difficult as it promised to be, the anniversary of your death ended up testing me in ways I never could have imagined.

It kicked off with the nightmares. I'd begun to believe that they were finally done tormenting me, but no such luck. They came back last night full force: vivid, repetitive, unending. When I finally managed to wrench myself awake, I was drenched in sweat and shaking. The sickening lurch of knowledge that, bad as the nightmares were, they couldn't compete with the reality of what had actually happened, had me stumbling to the bathroom to throw up.

As I knelt there on the bath mat, wretched and grief-stricken, my thoughts turned to Elijah, and how he'd cared for me when I had the flu. I selfishly wished he was there again to comfort and care for me, until I recalled my selfishness on another occasion and I forced myself to get up. I showered and dressed, checked on the girls - peacefully asleep, unlike their father, and thank God that for Allie and Lizzy the nightmares _are_ finally a thing of the past - and went downstairs to make coffee and try to pull the scattered pieces of myself together.

Two years. It was two years ago today that we came to the end of our journey through life together, Chris. I thought it would last until we were old and gray. I never dreamed it would be cut short and so senselessly.

It's that, I think, that still has the power to bring me to my knees: that you went out to run a simple errand, to pick up some milk at the store, and never came back. Yes, I kissed you before you left, said 'I love you', but there were so many other things left unsaid that I can never say except in these letters. And they are a very poor substitute.

While with Dr. Chaudry's help I've learned not to play the 'What If' game anymore, I couldn't help but regress this morning. I went through the motions - taking out the cereal, the bowls and spoons, filling Bella's juice cup - and then I opened the refrigerator to take out the milk. As I held the carton in my hand, all the old what-ifs came back in a flood. What if Lizzy hadn't knocked over the milk carton. What if I'd caught it before it hit the floor. What if you hadn't forgotten your sunglasses and run back in the house to get them. What if the construction on Main Street hadn't sent you a different way.

What if I hadn't still been home and you'd had the girls with you in the car when you were hit.

It was certainly no secret to anyone what today was. I couldn't get away from it if I wanted to. Unlike our wedding anniversary, I didn't have the option of using work as a distraction. Figgins made it plain that the school would accommodate me if I needed the day off, and with the memorial mass at eleven o'clock, to which most of our family members were coming, it _was_ a necessity.

Do I sound churlish? I don't mean to, but I didn't want to face this anniversary, Chris. If I'd been offered the option of sleeping dreamlessly straight through until tomorrow morning, I'd have grabbed it. God, I would have. But duty called to me in many guises, so I took the day off, arranged for a substitute teacher, prepared the lessons for my classes.

My students had obviously been talking among themselves about the reason they were getting a substitute, because yesterday they were unusually subdued. But they're young, and for most of them life has not yet dealt in the coin of tragedy. They read about it, see it in the news or at the movies, but it isn't personal. There's a big difference between being told that texting and driving can have tragic consequences and actually knowing someone directly affected by it.

I wasn't close to my best yesterday with the weight of dread that had been building in me for days becoming an almost palpable thing, and my kids dealt with me gently, even protectively. My senior class had a card for me. I told them that unless they wanted to watch me turn into a blubbering mess, I wouldn't open it then and there, but I almost broke down anyway. They're such good-hearted kids, Chris. It angers me when I read and hear people say that this generation is selfish and self-absorbed. Nothing could be further from the truth.

But that's a rant you don't need to listen to again. I said it often enough when you were alive.

Alive. God.

*

*

*

Around ten o'clock your parents arrived. I'd more or less pulled myself together by that point and gotten the girls their breakfast and helped Bella get dressed while Allie helped Lizzy. Our two older daughters were very well aware of why they weren't in school today. Bella is too young yet to understand fully what this anniversary signifies, but she's sensitive to atmosphere and she kept asking for Elijah. It made me regret not asking him to come this morning anyway, even though I was home. We could all have benefited from having him there, me included. Perhaps me most of all.

Yesterday afternoon, before Elijah left with Tom, I said that I hoped he would join us at the church for your mass. I doubted he would come on his own, even though I believe he feels a closeness to you, Chris. He still goes regularly to visit your grave and bring you flowers, and I recall vividly what he said about his mother on the day of our wedding anniversary, when he and I went to your grave together. I hope it won't be too long before he can claim her body - matters _are_ progressing on that front, if slowly - and have it moved here, but in the meantime, it seemed to me that, like his cemetery visits, the mass might bring him a level of peace and consolation, as he never was able to mourn her as he should have.

"Are you sure?" he said doubtfully in answer to my invitation - which was no more than I expected.

"Absolutely sure, Elijah. The girls will be so glad to have you there." I wanted to say that I would, too, but that seemed incredibly unfair to him, under the circumstances.

And then he surprised me by asking softly and a little sadly, "But what about you, Sean? Will _you_ be glad to have me there?"

I could see what it cost him to ask and risk more rejection, and so I looked him straight in the eyes and said, "Yes, I will."

"Then I'll be there," Elijah said simply, and I could see just as clearly what my reply meant to him.

He asks so little that it nearly breaks my heart. I would give him _everything_ , Chris, if only I were sure... But I'm getting ahead of myself as usual. I have much more to say on that score, but for now I'll only say that the battle is still being fought, the outcome blurred and indistinct.

*

*

*

We met the rest of the family in the vestibule of the church: my parents and Mack, Sue and Ed, Joe and Robin, and Peter, Beth and Danielle. It's amazing the difference the presence of a baby can make. Danielle was passed from person to person, including Father Michael, and oohed and ahhed over. Nothing could diminish the terrible reality of why we were gathered together, but it definitely helped ease the ache.

Elijah hadn't arrived by the time we went inside to sit down. I suppose in a way that was a blessing. Sue, for one, hasn't seen Elijah to speak to since he moved out, and she has that way of asking the wrong question at the worst possible time. I didn't want him put on the spot.

The church looked beautiful, Chris, with the flower arrangements I'd ordered displayed on the altar, along with those from our parents and siblings. I picked all your favorites, nothing exotic but the cheerful and bright flowers you loved. Could you see them? Were you there? What does it mean that while I used to sense - or imagine I sensed - your presence in the church, I no longer can? Have you moved on at last, or have I? The idea of either happening no longer scares the shit out of me, and that in itself hurts. It's the inevitable process of healing - the culmination of all those baby steps I've taken over the months - and, of course, of falling in love again. No baby step, that, and one I never, ever expected to take so soon, if ever.

But after I knelt and bowed my head, a persistent fear made it difficult to focus on praying: fear that I'll forget what you looked like, how you sounded, how you smelled, how you moved. Irrational, maybe, but real nonetheless. Then the processional began and we all rose. Beside me Allie began to sing _Praise God from Whom All Blessings Flow_ , and in her sweet voice I heard the echo of you and I understood, more clearly than I ever had before, that I have only to look to our children to find you.

Father Michael passed us, the pungent scent of incense from the thurible he was swinging rousing a bittersweet mix of emotions. How can one building hold at the same time so much of joy and grief, Chris? Of hopeful beginnings and intolerable endings?

Rightly or wrongly, my mind turned to Elijah, and my gaze slid across the aisle to the spot where I first laid eyes on him ten months earlier, with no premonition of where my impulsive decision to give him a tissue would lead us both. I realized that what I wanted at that moment more than anything was for him to be standing at my side - and that he was still nowhere in sight.

I glanced behind me, hoping he hadn't decided against coming, and my eyes found him standing just inside the nave doors. He was wearing a blue suit that I'd never seen before. It was slightly too large for him, and made him appear younger and somehow forlorn, like a child playing at grownup. Hesitance was written all over him and I knew that, left to himself, he would sit alone at the back of the church instead of with us, where he belonged.

So I whispered to Allie, who slid around me and disappeared, returning a minute later with Elijah firmly in tow. As he took up a spot beside me I heard Sue mutter, "Honestly, he has a nerve". She may or may not have intended for Elijah to hear, but he clearly did, because his cheeks were burning. Uncaring whether she saw, I gave his forearm a squeeze and whispered, "Ignore her."

It was right and proper to have Elijah there, Chris, and I won't apologize to Sue or anyone else. It's a shame that she can't see how truly good Elijah is, and allows her vision to be warped by prejudice. I'm fully cognizant of the fact that were Elijah and I to end up together, it would likely mean estrangement from her and, by extension, Ed and the kids, but I can't let that factor into an already fraught situation.

Meanwhile Father Michael took up his place on the altar, raised his arms and said, "Let us pray."

There is comfort, if not consolation, to be found in the soothing ritual of responses, of sitting, kneeling and standing. But Bella didn't find it soothing and soon enough starting fussing in your mother's arms and saying, "I want to sit with Lijah." It wasn't the time or place for an argument, so your mother passed Bella across to Elijah. She settled down on his lap, tucked her head into the crook of his neck, and seemed content. I heard a loud sigh behind me. Sue again.

As for me, what comfort I found in the ritual of the mass faded. The first mention of your name - 'our dearly departed sister Christine' - nearly undid me. I heard a sob, and your mother, our brick through it all, suddenly crumbled as if she'd reached the limit of her endurance at last. Her grief set off a chain reaction. Lizzy whimpered and buried her face against Elijah's arm, Allie started to cry and I hugged her tight.

I managed somehow to keep it together until the homily. You know I've had my issues with Father Michael in the past, but today he began his sermon with, of all things, a quote from Harry Potter: 'Those we love never truly leave us.' How many times did we watch that movie as a family? How many times have I said that exact quote to Allie and Lizzy since you died? Hearing it from Father Michael did undo me, utterly. I bowed my head and wept: for you, for us, for our children. For every day that they are deprived of your love and guidance. Whatever strides have been made in recovering from your death, that one loss will never be healed. Children deserve to have a mother.

And then I felt hand touch mine. I knew that touch. It was Elijah. I took his hand, so tightly that it had to have hurt. But it was like a rope to a dying man, Chris, and I clung as desperately as if I _were_ drowning - which I suppose in a sense I was. But I knew in the depth of my soul and beyond the shadow of a doubt that Elijah was strong enough to lift me from the deep waters.

"Daddy, don't cry," Bella said.

"I'm not," I said, lifting my head. I groped for a tissue with my free hand. Elijah said softly, "Take this," and pressed one into it. Full circle. We'd come full circle. And I felt, even at that moment, the beauty and the rightness of it being so.

I dried my eyes, pulled myself together. Listened to Father Michael expand, simply and with surprising eloquence, on Dumbledore's words to Harry. Perhaps he chose to frame his homily with Harry Potter because of Allie and Lizzy, but whatever the reason, I found wisdom in his words that I never expected to find. To be honest, I wouldn't have believed he had it in him.

When the mass was over, I thanked him humbly and with true gratitude for his spiritual guidance. He took my hand between his and pressed it. Then he said, "Always remember, Sean, that God never gives us more than we can handle." And I promised him that I would. I haven't changed my mind about what I wrote at the start of this letter, but perhaps my anger at God made me reluctant to count Father Michael among those who have helped me handle my burden. I was unjust to him, Chris, and it's past time I admitted it.

And now I've arrived at the most difficult part of this letter, Chris. I think maybe first I'll take a break. Go check on the girls.

*

*

*

I'm back.

We planned to have lunch at the restaurant after the service, but first we paid a visit to your grave. We drove slowly through the cemetery under a sky of deep, deep blue. It was the kind of day you only find in autumn, when colors appear so intense they're almost painful. We added our flowers to those already arranged on the grass - thick and green now after two years - beneath your headstone, and the girls carefully set down the teddy bears they'd picked out at the flower shop. The bears are holding hearts - our hearts. But maybe it isn't necessary for me to describe them to you.

Because here's a curious thing, Chris: back in June on the day of our anniversary, when I visited your grave with Elijah, I clearly remember a sparrow alighting on the stone and starting to sing. Well, the same bird, or its twin, appeared today. It perched on the gravestone and watched us with bright eyes before bursting into song. I had - I have - the strange fancy that it was you looking through its eyes. You always loved sparrows.

After a minute or so, the bird flew away in a flutter of wings and a cloud obscured the sun like a dark premonition. The wind bit without the sun to temper it, and we didn't linger. Bella was getting antsy, and Allie shivered against my side.

"Say goodbye to Mom," I told the girls, and if I write what they said, I'll start crying again and I don't think I can bear to shed another tear right now. So I'll hope that somehow you heard them. I briefly rested my palm on the head of the stone angel, murmured, "I love you," and turned away.

Peter and Beth had already left for the restaurant with the baby, and by the time I got Lizzy into her booster seat and Bella into her car seat, everyone else had gone, too, except for Elijah, who stayed behind to help me. I will forever be grateful for that, Chris.

You see, as I closed the sliding door after giving Bella her juice, I heard a car pull up and then the sound of doors opening and shutting. I didn't think much of it - some other family visiting a loved one's grave - but when I looked in that direction and saw who it was, I froze.

She was standing perhaps thirty feet away: a young woman with straight blond hair under a tight-fitting red knit cap, and wearing a navy pea coat, jeans and boots. A well-dressed couple stood behind her at a little distance - her parents - but I barely glanced at them. My attention was riveted on her.

It was Jenny Jacobsen, Chris. Her time in juvenile detention was over. That she was out wasn't news to me. Our attorney called about a week ago to tell me - warn me, I suppose it would be more accurate to say. Only, it never occurred to me that she'd show up at the cemetery, today of all days. I was completely unprepared for her presence, and I nearly panicked.

I opened the driver's door, leaned in. "I'll just be a minute, girls," I said as cheerfully as I could manage. "There's someone I have to talk to before we go. I'll put on the TV for you, okay?"

As I did, Allie asked, "Is everything all right, Daddy?" Clearly my acting didn't deceive her.

"It's fine, sweetheart," I said. "I'll be right back."

Elijah, thinking we were ready to leave, was walking toward his car. I stopped him. "Elijah, don't go yet," I said. To my own ears, my voice sounded like a stranger's. I can only imagine how it sounded to Elijah, because he whirled around at once.

"Sean, what's wrong?" he asked, hurrying over to me.

My eyes were on Jenny Jacobsen, walking slowly in my direction, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. "Just... please, don't leave me."

"Of course I won't," Elijah said at once, and a quick, light touch fell on my arm. I felt certain that Elijah had figured out who the girl was, and as in the church when he took my hand, his touch lifted me, gave me strength.

After everything that happened, Elijah was there for me, without question or hesitation. What did I do to deserve such loyalty from him? And believe me, Chris, his presence was all that kept me from jumping in the car and getting the hell out of Dodge, because I honestly wasn't brave enough to face her on my own.

I went to meet her, moving further from the car. Even with the car engine running and the TV on, I didn't want to risk the girls hearing anything. Allie and Lizzy knew only the bare minimum about your accident. They knew that the person who hit you had been texting and driving. But they don't know her name, or that she was only seventeen and that because of her age there hadn't been a jury trial but a hearing. I've certainly never shared with them the agony that your parents and I went through at the hearing. They've never seen the photos of our mangled car, experienced the impotent rage, the fury of grief - there is no other description for it - that seeing Jenny for the first time - whole, unbruised even - had roused in me. She walked away from the accident without a scratch.

All these things were roiling inside me as I drew near. Closer up, she looked older than I recalled, and with a start I realized that she was now nineteen. By older I don't mean her age. She had lost some of the roundness of youth, but she still physically looked the teenager she is. But her eyes, Chris. When I looked into them, I experienced a strange sense of déjà vu. It took me a few seconds to place it: her eyes reminded me of Elijah's, eyes that held too much of matters someone her age should know nothing about.

She had suffered, was still suffering, that was clear, and I didn't rejoice in the knowledge. Not because I'd just been in church listening to Father Michael speak eloquently of how those we love will never truly be lost to us. But because there has been too much suffering already - for everyone. There is no heavenly accountant keeping a balance sheet who can say, "Okay, you've paid in enough, it's over now." There are only humans, frail and fallible.

And being a frail, fallible human, at first I wanted Jenny Jacobsen to suffer as I was suffering. It seemed intolerably unfair that her only punishment for killing you was fourteen months in juvenile detention, after which, her records sealed, she would be free to go about her business as if nothing had happened. It didn't help that at the hearing her apology sounded hollow and insincere, that she gave the appearance of a sulky, spoiled child who had no real concept of what she'd done and expected mommy and daddy to fix it and make it go away.

Only clearly, if that ever had been true, and I was in no state back then to judge truths or be remotely fair, it no longer was.

We stopped a few feet apart; her parents had remained behind at the car. Jenny was pale, but two spots of color burned high on her cheeks. For some reason, I noticed her nails. At the hearing they'd been long and impeccably polished a bright pink with tiny crystals that glittered when she moved her hands. Now they were short and unvarnished. I let her speak first. I was pretty sure that she'd prepared what she was going to say, probably rehearsed it. She reminded me of one of my students about to give an oral report. She looked down at her feet, then up at me, and it hit me that her eyes were almost the exact same shade of gray as yours.

"Mr. Astin," she began, her voice high and tight as if it were a tightly compressed spring that could uncoil at any moment. She stopped, cleared her throat, began again. "Mr. Astin, I hope you aren't too upset at me coming here. I promise not to take much of your time, but my family is moving to Washington next week and I wanted, I _needed_ , to see you before we leave." She stopped, uncertain.

"It's okay," I said. "Go on."

"Thank you." She drew a deep breath. "What I want to say first is that not a day, not an hour, goes by that I don't think about the accident and regret it more than I can possibly express. Nothing I do or say can ever change what happened, but the months I spent at Kinsey showed me what I need to change in myself. There are kids there who have nothing, while I had everything, but I was too selfish and stupid to appreciate it."

A single tear ran down her cheek, and she wiped it away almost angrily, as if she hadn't given herself permission to cry. Then she looked at me squarely and went on, "Mr. Astin, when I said 'I'm sorry' to you at the hearing, it didn't come from the right place, because I was so wrapped up in what was going to happen to me that I'm ashamed to say I didn't spare very much thought for what you and your family were going through." She blinked rapidly, paused to gain control of herself.

"So I will say it again now, but this time please believe that I mean it with all my heart: I am sorry, so very, very sorry for what I did. And I want you to know that I'm trying, every day, to live in a manner that will honor your wife's memory." She drew a deep shaky breath as if nearly at the end of her tether. "And I know it's too soon, I realize that, but I hope that maybe, someday, you can find it in your heart to forgive me."

In the silence that followed, I could hear the sound of cars down on Main Street, the whistle of a train in the distance - and closer at hand, the song of a sparrow. I took it as a sign, Chris. There were a lot of things I could have said, I suppose. What I did say was, "But it's not too soon, Jenny," and opened my arms to her. She almost fell into them, sobbing and trembling.

It was an embrace not of friends, Chris, but of survivors. I didn't try to comfort or soothe her. I just held her, and over her head my gaze met Elijah's. I couldn't read his expression and I wondered what he was thinking. Probably that I was crazy, and maybe I was.

But when Jenny had cried herself out and we separated, she was no longer pale, and her red, swollen eyes held a measure of peace that had not been there before. "Thank you," she said. "It's more than I deserve, Mr. Astin, but you can't possibly imagine what having your forgiveness means to me."

"Then please make it count for something," I said.

"I will, I promise," she replied earnestly.

I took my wallet from my back pocket, removed a business card and gave it to her. "Jenny, after you're settled in Washington, will you give me a call?"

She took the card with an unbelieving expression, turned it over in her fingers. "Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously," I replied. "However it came about, we're connected now and I'd like to know that you're doing all right. And if you ever need to talk to someone, Jenny, remember I'm only a phone call away."

"That's so unbelievably kind of you," she whispered, pocketing the card. "Thank you." Her eyes slid past me to the car, grew sad. "I won't keep you any longer, Mr. Astin. I know your - your children are waiting for you. Goodbye." She turned and walked quickly away before I could say anything, back to her parents.

As I watched Jenny's retreating form, my predominant feeling, Chris, was relief, plain and simple. I felt utterly drained and exhausted, like I'd run twenty miles in the heat of summer.

"Sean, are you okay?" Elijah asked me.

"Not especially," I admitted, "but I will be. Now come on, we'd better go. Everyone must be wondering where we are." But first I set my hand on his shoulder, squeezed it briefly. "Elijah," I said with all the gratitude in my heart, "thank you for standing by me."

"Always," he replied, and I _could_ read his expression now. But this time the hero worship I saw there didn't alarm or distress me, Chris. It uplifted me, made me believe that I'd done the right thing and that the sparrow's song had indeed been a sign.

*

*

*

The kids made lunch a rather chaotic and noisy meal, and that was fine by me. I needed the distraction. I still haven't settled on when or if I should tell your parents about my meeting with Jenny, but today was definitely not the day. I've rarely seen your mother so emotionally drained - I think, after two years, the absolute finality of your loss finally hit her - and she didn't need anything else laid on her. Mack I'll tell tomorrow. It's Saturday (thank god) and he'll be coming over to help me repair a few things that need fixing around this old house. It'll be a good opportunity to talk to him about Jenny. I'm not worried that he'll disapprove of what I did, maybe just question my sanity a little - but then, maybe I'm questioning it a little, too. No regrets, though, Chris.

I was afraid Sue might make a scene about Elijah sitting with the family during mass, but even though he wasn't scheduled to work today, he insisted on helping serve us lunch. Perhaps that's why she let it go - she seems to consider him a glorified servant - or maybe for once she realized that it was neither the time nor place to vent her spleen. I would far rather Elijah have sat with us, but like on my birthday, he wouldn't consider it. It made him happy to wait on us, that was clear, so who was I to argue?

After lunch, the family went our separate ways. But I made sure to give Helen an extra long hug and tell her how much I love her. In some ways, and no disrespect intended to my real mother, she has become my mother. I've written this to you so many times, but it bears repeating: I don't know how I would ever have managed, how I continue to manage, without her and Jim.

"Go home and have a rest, Ma Harrell," I told her.

" _Ma Harrell_?" she repeated, smiling. "You make me sound like the head of a family of nineteen-thirties bank robbers, Sean."

"The Harrell-Astin Gang?" I suggested. "It has a definite ring to it, don't you think?"

She started laughing, which of course is exactly what I intended, and said, "Oh Sean, you blessed boy. How you do make me laugh. I remember the day Chris came home from college and told me she'd met a boy in the library that afternoon and he'd asked her to marry him. 'Marry you?' I said to her, and she said, 'Yes, Mom, and you know what? I believe I will'. I thought she'd lost her mind, but she knew a good thing when she saw it."

"And so did I," I replied, hugging her again. "What I didn't know then was that the package deal was even better."

I'd arranged with Elijah to take Allie and Lizzy to a movie after lunch. For one thing, I thought it would be good for them to do something fun after the sorrows of the morning, and for another I wanted a few quiet hours to process everything that had happened. So they went off to the multiplex and I went home with Bella. She was way past her nap time and I carried her straight upstairs to bed.

In the end, though, Bella wasn't the only one who napped. Imagine me, napping in the middle of the day, Chris. I can picture your shock, although I suppose I needed it as badly as Bella. After getting her settled under the covers - I only read her a few sentences of her current favorite, _Go, Dog. Go_ before she was out like a light - I sat down in a chair by the window, where the sun was streaming through warm and golden. Shrek came and curled up purring on my lap... and that was all I knew until I heard Lizzy's voice saying loudly, "Daddy's sleeping!" and Elijah replying, "Shh, you'll wake your father and Bella."

"I'm awake," I said groggily, sitting up. My mind was muzzy with a fading dream. I can't recall what it was, only that you were there and you were smiling - a far cry from the nightmares that woke me this morning. I let the dream go to wherever unremembered dreams go, and got up, scrubbing my hands over my face. "Sorry," I said. "Didn't mean to fall asleep."

"I guess you needed it," Elijah said, his eyes filled with sympathy - and something more.

"I guess I did." I pulled Lizzy into my arms and kissed the top of her head. "How was the movie, poppet?" I asked, and began steering her out of the room so we wouldn't wake Bella, still sleeping soundly.

We went downstairs, Shrek bounding in front of us in anticipation of his dinner, and Lizzy talking a mile a minute about _A Dolphin's Tale_. At the bottom of the stairs Elijah said, "I'd better head out, Sean. See you Monday morning." Never had anyone looked less like he wanted to leave, Chris. Would I have said something if Lizzy hadn't piped up? But she did, and I guess I'll never know.

"Lijah, I don't want you to go," Lizzy said unhappily, taking his hand.

"That makes two of us," I put in, grabbing the opening. "Why don't you stay and have dinner with us?"

"Please?" Lizzy gave him a look that could have melted stone.

"Okay, but only if you let me make dinner," Elijah said, but his heart was in his eyes, and it hurt to see again, so clearly, how little it takes to make him happy - and how much his happiness depends on me.

"I was going to heat up some Stouffer's pizzas," I confessed guiltily.

Elijah made a face. "Ugh, then yes, I'll definitely stay and make you something from scratch. You barely ate any lunch, Sean."

At that I had to smile. It felt good to smile, and good - I admit it - to know that Elijah noticed and cared. And he did have a point. Lunch had consisted mostly of me pushing food around my plate, trying to make it look as if I was eating.

"Don't you ever get tired of cooking?" I asked lightly.

"Not for you and the girls," Elijah said, and he was absolutely serious.

Perhaps it wasn't fair to ask him to stay, Chris, even if Lizzy asked first. I could have put the kibosh on it. But the truth is, I needed him. I needed that sense of family we had until that awful night. I wanted things to be as they were, if just for this one evening. I can never get that back for us, Chris, but damn it, I could with Elijah. Was that so wrong?

*

*

*

Pretty soon fabulous smells were wafting from the kitchen. I went upstairs to wake Bella and met Allie just coming out of her room. Although I didn't ask her, I expect she'd been writing in her journal. She doesn't know about these letters, Chris - only Dr. Chaudry and Elijah do - but though she's no longer seeing Dr. Penobscot, I've encouraged her to continue her journaling, because writing things out helps, as I know all too well. She looked solemn and serious, but I knew exactly how to bring a smile to her face.

"Elijah's cooking dinner," I said, and she smiled all right, Chris. She lit up like a Christmas tree and raced down the stairs. I confess to a small pang of worry that she read more into his presence than she should.

I got Bella up - I hated to wake her, Chris, she looked like a sleeping angel - and we joined the rest of the family in the kitchen. Bella was as ecstatic as Allie to see Elijah and she ran to him, wrapped her arms his leg, and clung.

"Hey, poppet," he said, detaching her and scooping her up, and she buried her face in his chest, still a little clingy from her nap. The expression on his face... God, it took me back to June, when we went to the water park and stopped on the way back for ice cream. Elijah was looking at Bella exactly as he had then, with such tenderness. I was only dimly beginning then to understand my true feelings for him, but now, with the full awareness, it tore at my heart.

I didn't expect to have any more appetite for dinner than I did for lunch. But when Elijah served up a perfect golden-brown frittata with peppers and sausage, and home fries and salad to go with it, I discovered to my surprise that I was ravenous.

Or maybe it was less the food than Elijah himself, sitting across the table in his old spot, that I was ravenous for. I missed him. I missed him so fucking much, and I wanted to grab onto the moment with both hands and not let it go. Second chances rarely come to any of us, and if you get one, you're a fool to squander it. If this day reinforced one truth - for me and, I think, for Jenny - it's that.

We had ice cream with chocolate sauce for dessert, and Elijah made the two of us coffee. There was a fragile atmosphere in the room, a sense of things coming together that had been wrenched apart. I didn't want to destroy it nor see it end, and I'm certain Elijah felt the same way. When the last spoonful of fudge ripple was scraped from the bottom of the bowls, I pushed back my chair and got up.

"Homework time," I said, and Allie and Lizzy opened their mouths to protest. I held up a hand. "Sorry, but missing a day of school doesn't mean you're off the hook. And maybe, as a reward and if you ask him very nicely, Elijah will go fetch Tom and bring him back for a visit."

Elijah, startled, stared at me with a question in his eyes: _do you mean it?_ And I smiled back my reply: _yes, I mean it_. He flushed and his face glowed with pleasure. The girls immediately bombarded him with 'pleases' and he agreed at once. He left to get Tom and while he was gone, I cleared the table and put the dishes in the dishwasher while Allie and Lizzy settled in with their schoolwork and Bella with a coloring book and crayons.

Elijah returned about an hour later, and homework was abandoned. It's not that the girls don't see Tom every school day, but this was different. It was the first time since July that we'd been together like this, the five of us. We fell seamlessly into the habits that evolved over the months that Elijah lived here. It was both wonderful and terrifying.

I have no excuse for allowing it, Chris, unless need and fear - fear of being alone with my thoughts on the anniversary of your death - are excuses. It's true that his presence was good for Allie and Lizzy, providing an extra source of stability and reassurance on a day when they definitely needed it. But we could have managed. I just didn't want to.

What followed held a healing normality that reminded me how much I've always loved the quiet after-dinner hours. Nothing of actual import happened - I took a few phone calls, checked my emails for any messages from school while Elijah and Allie had their heads together over a fashion magazine, Shrek curled up napping between Tom's front legs, and Lizzy patiently helping Bella with a puzzle - but everything that happened was important in a subtler way. Elijah and I didn't talk to each other much, but every once in a while our eyes would meet and in his I saw both gratitude and another question, to which I didn't know the answer: _what does this mean?_

The girls voiced no protest when eight-thirty arrived and I said, "Time for bed." It had been a long, exhausting day for all of us. Elijah and I split up the tucking in duties; he put Bella to bed and read _By the Shores of Silver Lake_ to Lizzy while Allie and I continued _To Kill A Mockingbird_. Of course, soon she'll be too old for me to tuck her in and read her to sleep, so I'm treasuring these moments.

As I read, I thought, for the thousandth time, how much I both admire and envy Atticus Finch. Can any father possibly live up to the example he sets Scout and Jem? There's no doubting, though, that I feel a kinship with him, a widowed father trying to imbue his children with the values of tolerance and compassion.

I finished the chapter and was about to kiss Allie goodnight and turn off the nightstand lamp when she said, "Daddy, can I ask you something?"

"Of course, sweetheart," I said.

"Who was that girl at the cemetery? I asked Lijah, but he said I should ask you."

I wasn't expecting the question, although perhaps I should have. Much as I would have preferred not to let Jenny, and my meeting her, impinge on Allie, she had a right to the truth. And she proved that she was strong enough and smart enough to handle it. Her mother's daughter indeed.

"Her name is Jenny Jacobsen," I said. "She was the driver of the car that hit your mother."

Allie wasn't shocked; she'd obviously plumbed to Jenny's identity on her own. I suppose it wasn't terribly difficult to discern it, not after the way I reacted to Jenny. And Allie is extremely observant where I'm concerned - especially since you died.

"She's so young," Allie said. "She's not a big grown-up like I always thought."

"You've thought about her and what she was like?" Chris, I felt a fool. Just because Allie never asked me about Jenny didn't mean she hadn't speculated about the person responsible for her mother's death.

"Of _course_ I have." There was an implicit eye roll at my obtuseness that under any other circumstance would have made me smile.

"Sorry," I apologized. "Anyway, Jenny _is_ young. She's nineteen." _With the eyes of an eighty year-old_ , but I didn't say that to Allie.

"But why isn't she in jail?" Allie's brow was wrinkled in puzzlement. "You told us that she went to jail."

"She did, but at a juvenile detention center - a jail for kids," I explained. "She wasn't tried as an adult because when the accident happened she was only seventeen. Kids get shorter sentences than adults. That's why she's already out."

Allie thought about this for a while and I let her. After a minute or so she took my hand. "Why did she want to see you?"

"To tell me how sorry she is for what happened. To ask me to forgive her."

"And you forgave her." It wasn't a question, but a statement.

"I did, Allie, because she served her time and I think maybe she's been punished enough." I worried that she wouldn't understand, and how could I blame her? Allie was robbed of you. Why _should_ I expect her to understand my reasons for forgiving the girl who committed that robbery? I asked gently, "Does it upset you that I did?"

But to my intense relief, Allie slowly shook her head and replied, "No, Daddy. It makes me glad, because it would hurt you in here," she placed her palm over her heart, "if you didn't forgive her. You're like Atticus."

"A tall, dark, handsome Gregory Peck type, you mean?" I teased, when what I really wanted to do was put my head down on the comforter and howl like a baby.

But Allie, like Elijah earlier, wasn't about to be distracted by my lame attempt at humor. "Because you always help people, like you did Lijah," she said simply.

"That's about the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me." I was tearing up - big time. I almost did howl like a baby.

"I love you, Daddy," Allie said. "But I miss Mommy." And she started to cry.

"I miss her, too, sweetheart," I choked out, and held her until she fell asleep, tears glistening on her cheeks, diamonds of sorrow.

*

*

*

When I met Elijah downstairs I said, "How about a beer? I can use one." He said yes, I got them, and then without discussion or decision, without conscious volition even, we gravitated to the family room. I found myself sitting on the sofa with Elijah, each of us holding his beer, and the TV tuned to CNN. Just like old times, Chris, except that there was a careful distance between us, giving the situation a vaguely fifties sitcom air - but without any humor.

We didn't talk, just sipped our beers, and the bass rumble of Tom's purr was clearly audible from where he lay on Elijah's lap. Tom was happy, content, and I'd be lying, Chris, if I said I wasn't, too. The stress of the day, with its emotional ups and downs, was momentarily in abeyance. For once the thought of what had happened on that sofa in January didn't fill me with the urge to leap up as if the cushions were on fire. I came so close, several times, to getting rid of it; but leaving aside the fact that I can't afford to replace it, getting rid of it wouldn't remove the memory or my guilt.

I don't think either of us was actually listening to the talking heads - certainly I wasn't - and after a while I became aware that Elijah's gaze was fixed on me. I turned my head and found myself caught by his eyes, large and luminous and so incredibly, incredibly beautiful.

"What?" I asked. "What is it?"

"I was wondering if Allie asked you about the girl in the cemetery - Jenny," Elijah said quietly. "She asked me, but I didn't think it was right for me to tell her anything."

"She did ask me," I said. "I was afraid she might not understand why I forgave Jenny, but she said..." I found those treacherous tears threatening again. "Well, what she said isn't important, but what she understands is, and that's enough to humble me. She's a remarkable child, Elijah." I smiled ruefully. "Good thing she takes after her mother."

"Meaning no disrespect to Chris," Elijah said, "but I'd say her father has a lot to do with how remarkable she is. What you did... listening to Jenny, embracing her, telling her she can call you if she needs to talk..." He blinked rapidly and his throat worked. "Sean, you _forgave_ her. You actually forgave her." He stared down at his right hand as if mesmerized by its slow progression along the length of Tom's neck and back. "I'm not sure I could ever do that. When I think about Kim, I get so angry I want that miserable fuck who burned her with cigarettes to rot in hell, not be forgiven for what he did."

"I know," I said quietly, sickened once more by the knowledge of what had been done to two defenseless children.

Elijah fell silent, caught in the grip of the past. Eventually he said, "I used to go to St. Patrick's Cathedral. Not for mass, or at least not on purpose, although a few times there was a mass going on when I was there. Just to sit, get away from my shitty life in someplace beautiful, and light a candle for my mom. Have you ever been in St. Patrick's?"

"Once, when Chris and I were in New York for a teachers' convention. It's magnificent."

"Did you know the stained glass windows were made by artists in Chartres, France?" Elijah asked.

"I didn't know." I wondered why Elijah was bringing it up; I felt sure it had nothing to do with the history of church architecture. I was right.

"My mom told me that," Elijah said. "She took me to St. Patrick's once. She told me that she'd been to the actual Chartres cathedral on a family trip when she was a kid. Or, at least I think she did," he amended. "Sometimes I wonder if it's a real memory or one I invented. But if it's not, how do I know about Chartres or the stained glass windows?"

"Maybe it doesn't matter if it's real or not," I replied gently. "As long as you believe it."

He smiled, just a small smile, but it eased the knot of pain constricting my chest. "Then I'll believe it's real." The smile vanished. "But in all the hours I spent there, I never said to myself, 'God believes in mercy, Elijah. He wants you to forgive those who hurt Mom and Kim'. What I said was, 'How could You let that happen to them? How?'" His voice broke on the last word.

I chose my next words carefully, because it mattered, so very much, that I say the right thing to Elijah. "I'm sure Father Michael wouldn't agree," I began, "but perhaps some things can't or shouldn't ever be forgiven. Jenny was careless and thoughtless. The man who hurt you and Kim was a sadist, plain and simple." I paused. "You aren't alone in questioning God, Elijah. I can't tell you how many times I've asked Him that same question: how could You let that happen? It's a struggle that I doubt will ever end for me, however many times Father Michael talks about the inscrutability of God's plans for us and how we shouldn't question them."

Elijah still had his head down, but he was listening closely. I went on, "I told Allie that I was able to forgive Jenny because she did her time and paid her dues. But it's more involved than that. No matter how good a parent I try to be, Elijah, no matter what I tell or teach them, my own children might do foolish or careless things that have consequences they never imagined. Hell, I did them myself when I was seventeen, and only by the grace of God, or perhaps sheer dumb luck, did I come through unscathed and without hurting someone else. Jenny was right that nothing she can say or do will ever change what happened, but she has her entire future ahead of her. How would it profit either of us to send her on her way unforgiven? In the end, for me, forgiving her wasn't a choice, because there was no other path to take. And Elijah, I thought about you, and how no one ever reached out a hand to you, and how your life might have been different if they had."

I waited for him to speak, but he didn't seem able to, so I broached a subject that I had been intending to bring up - before things went wrong between us. "Elijah, have you ever tried to find Kim?"

His hand clenched convulsively in Tom's butterscotch fur. "I thought about it a lot, especially after I got the escort job and I was making good money." He gave a hollow laugh. "I had this ridiculous plan to rescue her and then the two of us would go someplace warm and safe, like Mexico. Someplace no one could find us. But I was too fucking scared to do it, Sean. I would've had to go back to child services, and I was afraid they'd get hold of me and stick me in another piece of shit foster home. It didn't matter once I turned eighteen and they couldn't legally do anything to me - just the thought of going into that building again scared me blind. But what scared me most of all was the possibility of discovering that Kim was dead, that some other motherfucker had killed her. It would be like with my mom all over again. So I never have." He laughed again, bitterly this time. "Instead I make up stories in my head about her meeting someone like you, kind and caring, who got her out of that hellhole and gave her a home and a family to love."

"Oh Elijah." I wanted to say that I'd help him find Kim, so that whatever the answer, he wouldn't face it alone. I wanted to say that we'd visit the real Chartres together someday and light a candle for his mom.

But I didn't.

What I did say, to my own total and complete astonishment, was: "Elijah, will you spend the night?"

Elijah went absolutely still; his hand froze in mid-motion. The seconds unwound with agonizing slowness and my heart thundered in my ears. "Are - are you asking me to sleep with you?" he said.

"Yes, I am."

I don't know how I expected him to react, since I hadn't the slightest idea I was going to say it. But I suppose, if I'd thought about it, that I'd have expected him to jump at the chance. Instead, he said slowly, "Sean, are you sure about this?"

I had to be honest. "I'm not sure of anything right now, Elijah."

"Then my answer has to be no," he replied.

"Can I ask why?"

"Because if you woke up tomorrow morning and regretted it, I'd never forgive myself," he replied. "Sean, I've done a lot of thinking since that night." I didn't need to ask him which night. "Actions have consequences and I fucked up big time when I let you have sex with me on New Year's Eve. I didn't understand what it would mean to a man like you, a man of integrity and honor. But I've changed since then, I'm a different person because _you_ reached out a hand to me, and the person I am now understands why you were so freaked out."

"Elijah..." I began, but he placed his fingers fleetingly over my mouth to stop me. I had to stop myself from grabbing them and pulling him to me, convincing him to change his mind, even if I wasn't sure it was what I wanted.

"Please let me finish, okay?" he said, and I nodded. "I need you to know that I don't blame you for sending me away. When it happened I panicked, because I was so fucking scared that I'd lose you and the girls completely. You told me you wouldn't do that to me, and I should have trusted you, Sean, because you kept your promise." A tear spilled over and ran down his cheek. "You're the first person who ever kept a promise to me." His voice fell to a whisper. "I love you, and turning you down is like slamming the gates to Heaven in my own face, but I don't want to fuck things up between us again, not after being let back into Heaven just for today."

My feelings were a muddle of disappointment and, yes, relief. Maybe Elijah is right, Chris, and I would have regretted it tomorrow morning. I hope not, but he was wiser than I and stronger. I don't know what it cost him to refuse me, but I suspect a lot. And so I wanted to give him something in return. Selfishly, because I wanted it, too, but mostly for him.

I touched his cheek, very gently. "I've missed you, Elijah, missed this: hanging out with you here in the family room, drinking beer while we talk or watch a movie. Do we need to go on being ships passing in the night?" I huffed a laugh "I don't know that I'd call this Heaven, but you're welcome inside the gates every day if you want, just as friends."

" _If_ I want?" Elijah looked as if I _had_ just offered him the keys to the kingdom.

"I take it that means the answer is yes." I smiled and he smiled back. "Then I guess that's what we'll do."

And that's exactly what we did do. We sat on, recapturing the old ease and closeness, until Elijah's hand reached out to snag my beer can and I realized that I'd nodded off and nearly dropped it.

"I really better go and let you get some rest," Elijah said, setting down the beers on the coffee table and getting up with Tom in his arms. "You look exhausted, Sean."

I didn't try to stop him this time. I suppose I could have offered to let him sleep in his old room, but, Chris, if he ever moves back into this house, it will be into our bedroom.

Elijah put Tom into his carrier and I opened the front door for him. He looked at me with a sober expression and then said, "If you change your mind, I'll understand. It's been an emotional day."

"I won't change my mind, Elijah," I said. "That's a promise, and you know I keep my promises." I leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. "Good night, and drive safely, okay?"

"I will," Elijah said. But he didn't immediately move. "Sean, there's something I wish you will do."

"What's that?" I asked curiously.

"Remember that there's one person you still need to forgive: yourself. Please don't forget him, because he deserves your forgiveness as much as Jenny Jacobsen." He flung his free arm around me in a fierce hug and then, before I could react, he was out the door and walking to his car.

I watched him put Tom's carrier on the back, climb in the front seat, start the car. I didn't close the door, though I broke out in goose pimples from the cold, until the Honda's taillights were lost to view. After I shut and locked it, I went into my office and sat down to write to you. The entire time I've been writing, however, Elijah's last words to me have been hovering, waiting, I suppose, for me to acknowledge them and deal with them.

I know I must. Two years ago I could never have envisioned this day, Chris. I was incapable of seeing beyond grief, beyond despair, beyond an impotent anger at Jenny, at God, at Fate - and at myself. Perhaps at myself more than anyone. All those 'What Ifs' Dr. Chaudry has worked so hard to help me let go of.

But two years later, the process of healing is nearly complete - or as complete as it ever will be. And so perhaps forgiveness for that man Elijah mentioned will soon follow. I made one giant step closer to it today. We'll see what tomorrow brings.

As for today, for now, I'll hold to the memory of the swallow and her song. It was a song of hope, Chris.

Good night, my dearest.

I miss and love you always.

Love,

Sean


	14. Letter 14: Thanksgiving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day before Thanksgiving, Sean and his family are forced to face their deepest fear.

November 29th

My darling Chris,

You'd think a teacher who specializes in U.S. history would remember what FDR famously said: _The only thing we have to fear is fear itself_. Because I finally understand that it is fear more than anything that has governed my actions in the months since Elijah came into our lives. Fear that if I gave my heart to another I would be betraying you. Fear that if I gave my heart to another I risked going through the same pain of loss and devastation a second time.

But oh, I seem to have raised self-deception to an art form, Chris. I managed to convince myself that I was holding back for Elijah's sake, telling myself that because of his background he didn't, couldn't, understand what real love is, that he was confusing hero worship with love.

I was lying to myself and to you all along. It was an excuse because I was, quite simply, afraid.

Today I came face to face with that enemy inside me and finally recognized him for what he was. And in so doing managed to free myself from his iron grip - but nearly too late. When I think what might have happened, what I might have lost - another chance, miraculously, for happiness - I...

*

*

*

Let me begin again at the beginning. Perhaps proceeding with an orderly narrative will make it less agonizing to relive certain moments of a day that nearly broke me.

We didn't celebrate Thanksgiving the year you died, Chris. Give thanks? For what? We were staggered by grief and loss, fumbling blindly in the dark, bereft. Last year we celebrated Thanksgiving at the restaurant, a compromise that to me and your parents seemed best. None of us were ready for the full-scale 'turkey and all the trimmings, family touch football game in the backyard' business, but we didn't want to let the holiday pass unacknowledged, especially for the children's sake.

This year, however, I was finally ready to hold a proper Thanksgiving at home, and I hoped it would genuinely be a day of thanks for all of us, but most especially for Elijah. After all, it was going to be his first real family Thanksgiving. I very much doubt, from what he's told me, that any of the Thanksgivings he experienced in foster care or later counted, certainly not from his perspective. If I've learned anything about Elijah over the past eleven months, it's that he has a view point informed by the television shows he used to watch as a means of escape from his life.

_Father Knows Best_ is far from an accurate portrayal of small town America, and God knows I'm no Jim Anderson. But as idealized and unrealistic as that template might be, I wanted this Thanksgiving to be as close to it as possible. I wanted us to be the Andersons for at least one day and bring Elijah's dream to life.

There was the small matter of Elijah's job, but there are perks to being the brother of his employer. I asked Mack if he'd give Elijah Thanksgiving off so that he could spend the day with us.

‘Of course. To be honest, I was expecting it,’ Mack said, then added, his voice rising in a question, ‘Things are still going well between the two of you?’

‘They are,’ I agreed. ‘Very well.’ I didn't expand; it seemed like tempting fate, maybe, or perhaps it was the difficulty of pointing to any particular moment that would illustrate my agreement with his observation. By mutual, unspoken agreement, we had avoided any discussion of our relationship, and simply fallen back into the old routine.

‘Elijah has been like a different person these past few weeks, Sean. I thought I'd never hear his giggle again.’

Elijah's giggle. One of the most infectious, joyous sounds in this world. The first few times I heard it, I could hardly credit that it came from such a solemn, quiet young man. Back then he was always careful and self-contained. As I've written to you before, Chris, I don't believe that is how nature meant Elijah to be. That I was the one responsible for silencing his giggle, returning him to that state, hit me like a punch to the gut.

‘I have a lot to answer for,’ I replied soberly.

‘Bro, when will you stop beating up on yourself?’ Mack said, and I could picture the slow shake of his head as he spoke. Elijah had said more or less the same thing to me before we parted that night, but it's not easy when I'm always conscious of how badly I mishandled things with him.

‘I'm trying, Mack,’ I said, ‘but you know I'm hard to nut to crack.’

He laughed. ‘That you are, but then you come from a long line of hard nuts.’

When we rang off, I was smiling and thinking that this Thanksgiving was going to be different, special.

I should have learned by now to be careful what I wished for, Chris.

*

*

*

Elijah may often be self-effacing, but not when it comes to food. When I informed him of my plan to order a turkey and fixings from Kroger, he was horrified.

‘Sean, you can't have store bought food,’ he objected. ‘Let me make it. I _want_ to. Please?’ Well, what could I say but 'yes'? Clearly it meant a lot to him and I remembered not only what he'd said to me about never growing tired of cooking for me and the girls, but how much he'd enjoyed planning our Memorial Day barbecue and how fantastic it had turned out.

‘You'll have to tell me everything that you usually serve,’ he went on, his voice laced with excitement. ‘I want this Thanksgiving dinner to be just like the ones you've had in the past.’ Then his expression grew troubled. ‘I'm still pretty shit at baking, though. I'm not sure about the pies.’

I laughed. ‘But fortunately Helen isn't shit at baking. She's the pie maven in the family. So don't worry, Elijah. We've got that covered.’ He looked so relieved that I laughed harder and ruffled his hair, and he grinned sheepishly. ‘As far as what we usually have, Chris kept a little notebook where she wrote down the recipes she used for Thanksgiving and Christmas. I'll get it for you.’

His expression grew still, the way it does sometimes when I mention you, like he's afraid he's just trodden on sacred ground. ‘Are you sure?’

‘I'm sure. But I'll be honest,’ I went on seriously. ‘Chris wasn't that interested in cooking. She did her best, always put healthy meals on the table, but out of love for us not because she particularly enjoyed it. So you can tweak the recipes or use entirely different ones if you want.’ Anticipating his protest, I added, ‘I promise the holiday police won't come after you if you do, Elijah.’ That earned a reluctant smile from him.

I went to retrieve the notebook from my desk drawer. It's amazing how much history is contained between its spiral bound boards, Chris. Before leaving my office I opened it and leafed through the pages. I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel a pang - no, several pangs, painful ones - at the sight of your familiar handwriting. The ghosts of Thanksgivings and Christmases past paraded through my mind, such a pitifully few compared with what I'd believed we would celebrate together.

But Chris, I felt no hesitation or regret over giving the notebook to Elijah. In fact, it felt entirely right to do so. Because he has a reverence for our family's history and traditions that is both touching and profound. I knew that it would be in safe hands with him, and more, that _you_ would be in safe hands with him.

Indeed, he took the notebook from me as if it were some priceless artifact that he wasn't worthy to touch. I said gently, ‘Go ahead and open it, Elijah.’

With a quick glance at me, he did, and immediately became absorbed in reading it, though he turned the pages with the utmost care. As I watched him, I was struck by something and said without thinking, ‘You've stopped chewing your nails.’

Elijah paused and looked up. My heart gave a queer lurch at what I saw in his eyes. Then he said with devastating honesty, ‘Because I'm happy, Sean.’

Perhaps what I did then was foolishly impulsive, given that I'm the one who set the parameters for our relationship, but, well, some impulses simply can't be denied. I stooped and kissed his left forefinger, resting at the top of the page. ‘You can't possibly imagine how glad I am to hear it,’ I said.

Our faces only inches apart; we stared at each other, spellbound. What might have happened next I'll never know, because Lizzy came into the kitchen then and broke the spell. But as I straightened and stepped back, I felt undoubtedly regretful for the interruption and I'm very sure Elijah felt the same.

I'd be lying if I said I sometimes wished that Elijah had taken me up on my offer that night. He was right not to do so, I don't mean to imply otherwise, but Chris, you remember how it was with us when we started dating. We couldn't get enough of each other. Yes, we were younger, still teenagers, but the first flush of love makes teenagers of us all, no matter our real age. To put it simply, if not crudely, I want to have sex with Elijah. But I expect many men have wanted that, with no thought for anything but their own selfish gratification. So let me put it another, better way: I want to make love with Elijah, and not only with him, but _to_ him.

*

*

*

Elijah threw himself into the planning and his enthusiasm was infectious - although you know me, I couldn't resist pulling his leg a little.

‘Help, I've created a monster!’ I said when he showed me the menu that he finally, after several days of agonizing, came up with. ‘We'll have enough food to feed the entire town, if not county.’

His face fell. ‘Oh shit, I screwed it up. Sean, I'm sorry. I'll go back and-’

I interrupted him. ‘Elijah, I was only teasing. It's fine. Better than fine. I'm salivating just reading the names of some of these dishes.’

I practically was. Elijah had taken my words to heart about putting his own spin on the menu, and come up with a mix of old and new, and the new sounded absolutely fantastic. I consider that menu as a small but significant milestone for Elijah, like the amazing costumes he made for the girls at Halloween. The traditions we created are important, Chris, and I will continue to honor and treasure them. But creating new traditions is equally important if Elijah, the girls and I are one day to become a real family.

‘You're sure?’ he asked anxiously. ‘You're not just saying that?’

‘I'm positive,’ I replied.

He let out a relieved sigh. ‘You are a devious fucker, Sean Astin,’ he accused, and then clamped his hands over his mouth, looking guilty as hell.

But me? I was delighted by his reaction. Of the myriad roadblocks lying in our way, perhaps the biggest is Elijah's continued, stubborn belief that I'm some sort of saint. It's flattering as hell, don't get me wrong, but we have to be equal partners if a relationship between us is going to have any hope of success. And that means Elijah understanding that I'm as flawed a human being as anyone else, and calling me on it when I fuck up.

‘You mean you only just figured that out?’ I joked. ‘Took you long enough.’

A reluctant smile tugged at Elijah's mouth. ‘It's not fair to tease me. I'm nervous as hell, Sean. I want everything to be perfect.’

I turned serious. ‘I know you do, but Elijah, here's the thing: it doesn't have to _be_ perfect to be perfect. Hell, we've eaten dry turkey and scorched stuffing and no one cared. What matters is that we're together as a family and can count our blessings for the gifts God has given us. So just relax, okay? You don't want to undo all that good progress you've made on your nails.’

The smile widened. ‘Okay, I'll relax - or try to, anyway,’ Elijah said. Then he added, ‘Sean, thank you.’

‘For what?’ I asked.

‘For not letting me take myself too seriously. For making me laugh instead of scolding me.’

‘I would never scold you, Elijah. And I like to make you laugh. I don't think you've had enough laughter in your life.’ I added lightly, ‘As the old saying goes, you only tease the ones you love.’

I'm no poet, but I swear that right then Elijah's eyes outrivaled the brightest stars in the night sky. Temptation gnawed at me again, and though I didn't give in, I'll be honest, Chris: it was getting harder and harder every day.

Thanksgiving break was just around the corner, and it was frankly a relief to leave the planning in Elijah's capable hands. I was run off my feet between giving and grading end of term tests and helping Allie and Lizzy prepare for theirs. But I made time to go with Elijah to Kroger's and the liquor store the Saturday before. We bought most everything we needed, with one exception: the turkey. Elijah had ordered a fresh-killed turkey from a poultry farm a few towns over, for pick up on Wednesday. He was insistent on paying for the turkey as his contribution to the meal. I knew it wasn't cheap - you don't get free range and antibiotic-free for Butterball prices - but I didn't waste time arguing. Like I said, he is often self-effacing, but sometimes he digs in his heels, obstinate as any mule.

I could wish that I hadn't given in, but there, I'm playing the 'what-if' game again, in all its futility...

This morning was early dismissal as usual, although I sometimes think the only reason for making kids go to school at all the day before Thanksgiving is to give their parents some peace and quiet to prepare for it. Certainly, my students weren't exactly what I'd call focused and bolted as soon as the bell rang. I was hard on their heels, and ducked into the teachers' lounge only long enough to grab my stuff, wish a quick 'Happy Thanksgiving' to my colleagues, and race for my car.

I stopped to get Allie and Lizzy on the way, because as soon as we got home Elijah had to leave for Washington to pick up the turkey. The original plan had been for him to go first thing in the morning, avoiding traffic and lines, and be back in time to meet the girls at the bus stop. But Bella, who would have gone with him, was still feeling under the weather from the booster shots she got at the pediatrician on Monday. I know this might seem like an insignificant detail, Chris. But it's not. God, it's not.

*

*

*

‘How's Bella feeling?’ was the first thing I asked Elijah when the chaotic reunion of kids and cats subsided. He'd texted me a couple times with updates, but I was a little anxious nevertheless. She's our baby, Chris, and all the more precious for being our last. Would we have had more? You jokingly told me after Bella was born that the factory was closed, but perhaps we might've tried one more time, seen if we could give the girls a baby brother, or if not, another darling sister. I'll never know, but our three beautiful gifts from God are surely enough to satisfy any man.

Elijah made haste to reassure me. ‘She's definitely better, Sean. Her temp is back to normal and she didn't want to go down for her nap.’

‘Good,’ I replied with relief. ‘She probably could have gone with you after all, but still... better safe than sorry.’

‘Absolutely,’ he agreed. ‘But now that you're back, I better get a move on. I finished some of the prep work this morning, but there's still a lot left to be done.’

‘Just remember, you're the one who wanted to take on Thanksgiving dinner,’ I reminded him.

Elijah grinned. ‘I know, and don't think I'm complaining.’ His eyes were shining. ‘I've wanted to be part of a real Thanksgiving for so long.’ He took his jeans jacket from the hall closet and pulled it on. ‘I'll be back as fast I can,’ he said, digging his car keys out of a pocket and heading toward the door.

‘Elijah,’ I said, and he paused to look inquiringly back at me. ‘Drive carefully and don't rush.’

‘I'll be careful,’ he promised. ‘See you in a few.’ With a small wave of his hand, he opened the front door and went out.

I watched him from the window, feeling a tug of regret that I wasn't going with him, listening to some crazy-ass music he'd discovered while we talked. When the tail lights of his Honda had disappeared from view, I let the curtain drop and went to check on Bella. She was sleeping quietly, without the restlessness of the past couple days. Her cheeks were flushed, but gently, with sleep not fever. I laid my palm against her forehead; it was cool. Elijah was right: she was better.

I sat with her for a little while, perched on the edge of the bed, watching her sleep while I decompressed from the hectic morning. It was a gray day, promising rain, but the room was warm and cozy, with that indefinable child-smell that is so very precious. Bella with her golden curls and chubby pink cheeks looked like a sleeping angel painted by a Renaissance master, Chris. A stray image passed through my mind: Elijah sleeping in the car on the drive back from B-Town when he took his GED tests in May. I'd had a similar thought about him then, but Elijah was no child nor were my feelings for him in the least fatherly.

The time was soon coming when I would have to address those feelings, I realized. Our state of limbo couldn't go on indefinitely. It wasn't fair to Elijah. But in that quiet space of time in Bella's room, a still pool connecting rushing rivers, the difficulties and complications inherent a relationship between us laid themselves out like dominoes, standing in a row. One push would start them toppling, and I had to be prepared for the consequences, once I announced to the world that I was in a relationship with another man. I knew Mack had my back, even without his earlier reassurance. I believed that your parents would support me. And of course the girls would be ecstatic. My relationships with others in our families, however, not to mention the future of my job and my standing in the community... None of these were likely to remain unscathed.

And yet, Chris, as I stared at our sleeping daughter, I felt an unexpected, strange surge of excitement. We'd discussed the possibility of eventually moving to B-Town if I could get a job at the University - you know how I've chafed under the yoke of small town life - and perhaps the time to get serious about moving had arrived. But that would bring with it another raft of difficulties and complications, ones I didn't have time to puzzle through. There were two hungry girls needing their lunch.

I rose and tiptoed out and went back downstairs to the kitchen. When I opened the refrigerator I discovered that Elijah had indeed been busy, and not only with prepping for Thanksgiving. In among the numerous Ziploc bags and Tupperware containers filled with cut vegetables and other ingredients for Thanksgiving dinner, were a plate of tuna salad sandwiches on whole-grain bread and a bowl with freshly made coleslaw, both labeled 'For lunch'.

I put the food on the table, adding a bag of potato chips and a jar of pickles, and called Allie and Lizzy to come and eat. I texted Elijah a thank-you, hesitated and then added a string of hearts. I don't know why that matters so much to me now, but it does.

After lunch, before Allie and Lizzy could disappear, I said, ‘Time to get the house in shape for our guests tomorrow.’

It wasn't going to be the largest Thanksgiving gathering we'd ever had, just me and the girls, Elijah, our parents, Peter, Beth and the baby, and Mack with his new girlfriend Jennifer, whom none of us had yet had a chance to meet. I was sorry that Joe and Robin couldn't make it - they're down in Florida at Disney World with the kids - but not so sorry about Ed and Sue, who decided to go to his parents this year. Her absence would make the day much easier on Elijah, I knew.

‘Allie,’ I went on, ‘you can vacuum, and Lizzy, you can straighten and dust.’

‘But Daddy, we're on vacation,’ Lizzy complained.

‘So am I, but I'm the one who'll be cleaning the bathrooms so I don't want to hear any complaints.’ I clapped my hands. ‘Get a move on. The sooner you start, the sooner you'll be done.’

They went off with matching sighs and dragging footsteps, but no more fuss - they're good kids, they really are - and a few minutes later, as I went into the downstairs bathroom, I heard the roar of the Hoover coming from the living room.

I finished cleaning the bathroom, put out the guest towels, then picked up the bucket of cleaning supplies and went upstairs. I looked in on Bella, expecting her to wake up any minute, but she was still asleep. Hoping I'd have time to finish my portion of the chores before she did, I hustled along to the girls' bathroom. Elijah would be back soon anyway, I reasoned. It shouldn't take him much more than an hour and a half to get to Washington and back, and, I checked my watch, he'd already been gone ten minutes longer than that.

I was spraying the mirror with Windex when a plaintive meow startled me. In the mirror's reflection I saw Tom limp into the bathroom. ‘Hey,’ I said, turning around. ‘It's okay. Elijah will be home soon.’ He hopped up on the toilet seat and stared at me from his pale green eyes, and I swear, Chris, a _frisson_ of unease ran down my spine. I glanced at my watch again. Elijah was now half an hour late.

I told myself I was being ridiculous. He could have hit holiday traffic or the line at the poultry farm might be a mile long. There could be any number of reasons why he wasn't back yet. _You've got to stop assuming the worst whenever someone is a few minutes late. It's not healthy._ But Tom's unblinking stare remained on me as I returned the Windex to the bucket and swapped it for Clorox cleanser.

When my phone rang ten minutes later, I smiled at Tom. ‘That'll be Elijah, explaining why he's late,’ I said, setting down the sponge I'd been using to scrub the sink. I took the phone from my back pocket and stared at the unfamiliar number displayed on the screen. I debated letting the call go to voicemail, but some instinct told me not to. So instead I answered it. ‘Hello?’

‘I'd like to speak with Sean Astin, please.’ The voice was male, crisp, and very official-sounding.

Dread overcame me, Chris. I knew something was very wrong. So did Tom. His tail was lashing and he actually growled, the first time I've ever heard him do so. ‘Speaking,’ I replied.

‘Mr. Astin, this is Officer Novack with the Washington police.’ The crisp voice softened. ‘I'm calling about Elijah Wood. He's been involved in a car accident.’

The cleanser can fell from fingers suddenly gone nerveless. My legs gave way and I collapsed to the floor as if I were a puppet whose strings had been cut. He said something else, but it was no longer his voice I heard, it was that of a stranger, a police officer arriving at our house out of the blue on a beautiful October morning with news that would shatter my world.

_Mr. Astin, your wife has been involved in a very serious car accident._

Only then, I hadn't really understood the implication of his words. My mind simply couldn't harbor the possibility that you were dead. Hurt, badly hurt, yes. But dead? Never.

Now, though, it couldn't harbor any other possibility. _Elijah is dead,_ I thought. _Dead, like Chris._ Images rushed into my mind, inescapable, horrible beyond belief: your car at the crash scene, crumpled like a child's toy. Your face in the hospital morgue, pale, strangely serene, utterly lifeless. Superimposed on it I suddenly saw another face, Elijah's face, those expressive blue eyes dull and lifeless. A guttural noise escaped me, ugly, raw, verging on the edge of madness.

‘Mr. Astin?’ Officer Novack's voice penetrated the haze of horror shrouding me. It was clearly not the first time he'd said my name. ‘Are you there?’

Was I there? Oh Chris, never had I so badly wanted _not_ to be there, to instead hide my head in my knees, close my eyes and cover my ears and like Chihiro repeat over and over, _Wake up it’s just a dream. It’s just a dream. Go away. Away. Disappear._. But it _was_ real and there was nowhere to hide.

I was shaking so hard that I could barely hold the phone to my ear. A curtain of darkness hovered, threatening to fall and take me down with it. The handle of the vanity was digging painfully into the back of my neck. I focused on that physical pain, pressed harder until I gasped with it and the darkness receded. Dimly I could hear the vacuum cleaner still running. But surely Allie had to be finished by now. Hadn't an eternity at least passed since the phone rang?

‘Mr. Astin?’

‘I'm here,’ I managed to say, somehow. Tom jumped down and limped to me, crawled into my lap. I buried my free hand in his fur; he wasn't purring. I swallowed the bitter bile surging in my throat, tried to force out the question _What happened?_ , but the words wouldn't come. What did it matter anyway, when Elijah was...

But Officer Novack anticipated my question. ‘Mr. Wood swerved to avoid a deer that ran into the road. His car skidded in the rain and hit a telephone pole.’

‘Oh Jesus. Jesus Christ,’ I gasped. For a moment I honestly thought I might not hold it together, but simply break apart like a plane in a tail dive plummeting toward the earth too fast for the rivets to hold. The air was screaming past and I couldn't breathe. It was as bad as the asthma attacks I had as a child, Chris, and I thought I could hear Dad's voice in my mind, repeating over and over, _Breathe, Sean. Breathe._ But how could I when Elijah was no longer breathing?

‘He's on his way to Daviess Community Hospital in Washington. Mr. Wood tried to refuse treatment, but the paramedics were insistent and he finally agreed to let them take him.’

And just that abruptly I started breathing again. ‘He's alive? I thought...’ My throat closed, and I became aware that tears were wetting Tom's fur.

Novack sounded genuinely remorseful when he said, ‘I'm sorry, Mr. Astin. I should have been clearer. Mr. Wood is the one who gave us your number. They'll check him out fully at the hospital, but there didn't appear to be anything seriously wrong with him. The airbag deployed and he was fortunate that his car hit the telephone pole on the passenger side. Although the car is totaled, he was able to walk away from the wreck.’

It was definitely TMI, Chris. The images he evoked were too vivid, triggering memories that will never fade with time. But he couldn't know that. He probably thought he was reassuring me. But did it matter? Elijah was _alive_. And he was at the hospital, alone, among strangers. _I've got to get to the hospital, now,_ I thought, and forced myself to my feet on legs that would barely support me, still holding onto Tom like a lifeline. I asked Novack for the hospital address, wondered how the hell I would get myself there.

‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘And thank you for contacting me. Elijah is...’ My voice broke. ‘Elijah is deeply loved by his family.’

I rang off. I needed to call Mack, but my first order of business was somehow to pull my shattered emotions together. There were other things I needed to do before I could go to Elijah, although the need to be with him - _now_ \- was screaming through me. Novack might have said that there was nothing seriously wrong, but he didn't know. What if Elijah had internal injuries? What if, even now... I could have used Dr. Chaudry right then, Chris. But it was up to me to handle this without her. I had to get my shit together. I didn't want the girls to see me like this, and I was a wreck, seemingly unstoppable tears still running down my cheeks and my body trembling.

So of course, that was the exact moment Bella started calling for me.

I looked down at Tom. The butterscotch fur on top of his head was soaked dark by my tears. He looked back at me, and I recalled the day we went to the animal shelter for a kitten and Elijah bonded with the crooked-legged stray, and I knew that Tom could no more handle losing Elijah than I could. ‘Don't worry,’ I said, fighting back the tears. ‘He's going to be okay. He has to be.’

‘Daddy!’ Bella called again. I could hear the quaver in her voice that meant her own tears weren't far off.

I gently set Tom down, splashed some water on my face and dried it, and went to her. ‘Hey,’ I said, picking her up. ‘It's all right. I'm here.’ She burrowed into me and I went into daddy mode. ‘Do you have to potty?’ I asked her, and she nodded. I carried Bella into the bathroom, set up the potty seat and helped her onto it. I disposed of her wet pull-up and found a fresh one, moving on autopilot, trying to ignore the clamoring inside me, urging me to drop everything and go. But that wasn't an option. I couldn't leave the girls and I certainly couldn't take them with me to the hospital.

‘Sweetheart,’ I said to Bella, pulling my phone out. ‘I have to call Uncle Mack. I'll be right outside.’ Thankfully Mack answered on the first ring. My self-control was so tenuous that I simply blurted out,’It's Elijah. He's been in a car accident. He's at the Daviess Community Hospital in Washington and the police said he's not badly hurt, but...’

‘I'm on my way,’ Mack said tersely. ‘Do you want me to call Helen and Jim?’

‘Please,’ I said, relieved to turn some of the burden over to him. ‘I still have to tell Allie and Lizzy.’

‘Shit. I wish I was there with you. But I will be soon, Sean.’

‘Thanks, Mackie.’

‘I love you, bro. Hang in there. Elijah's going to be okay.’ And somehow, Chris, I could believe Mack when my own reassurances sounded hollow to my ears.

I got Bella cleaned up and changed, and we went downstairs to the kitchen. Tom was at my heels, my constant shadow, and fear was a second, darker shadow pacing beside him. I had just placed a cut up sandwich and juice cup in front of Bella when Allie came into the kitchen.

‘Dad, I finished the vacuuming...’ Her voice trailed away as she took me in. I suppose it was screamingly obvious that something bad had happened. ‘Daddy?’ She looked at me, apprehension in her eyes.

I went to her, took her hands in mine, led her into the pantry, out of Bella's sight. It was impossible not to flash back to the day I had to tell Allie that you had died, Chris. She had been too old for me to say to her, as I did to Lizzy, ‘Mommy has gone to heaven to be with the angels,’ and there'd been no way to soften the blow, make it anything less than completely devastating. But Allie is strong, Chris, stronger than I am, that's for certain.

‘Allie,’ I said gently, ‘I had a call from the police. Elijah is at the hospital. He had an accident with his car.’

Immediately her eyes flooded with tears. ‘No,’ she said, shaking her head in instinctive denial. ‘Daddy, no. Not again. Not Lijah.’

I gripped her fingers tightly. ‘Sweetheart, listen to me. He's only there as a precaution. He isn't badly hurt. It's not like your mom, Allie. And as soon as Uncle Mack and Gramma and Grandpa get here, your uncle and I are going to the hospital. We're not going to let anything bad happen to Elijah, I promise.’

Allie showed her strength, fighting back the tears. ‘I want to go with you and Uncle Mack,’ she said. ‘I want to be with Elijah, too.’ She added with determination, ‘Dad, I can handle it.’

Of course my instinctive reaction was to say no, fearing that my promise would prove empty, fearing what we might find at the hospital. But I didn't. How could I? Not only had Allie earned that right, Chris, but she _could_ handle it. She's proven over and over in the months since we lost you that she has a maturity beyond her tender years. How many times have I been the one to lean on her?

‘All right,’ I said. ‘You can come with us.’ Allie flung her arms around me and we held each other tightly for a minute. ‘I have to tell your sister,’ I said. ‘Stay with Bella.’

Lizzy took the news even worse than I feared she would, Chris. I don't think until today I understood exactly how close her bond with Elijah is. She was inconsolable, and when Helen and Jim arrived, she ran into their arms, crying as if her heart was broken. Your parents gathered her in, and Helen looked at me over Lizzy's head and there were tears in her eyes, too.

‘Oh Sean,’ she said. ‘Our poor boy. Bring him home to us as fast as you can.’

And that was the precise moment the first domino toppled. I swear, I almost saw it happen.

Mack arrived then, and the profound effect of Helen's words faded temporarily into the background. He brought with him news that calmed and reassured all of us - even Lizzy. ‘I just spoke to one of the emergency room doctors. Elijah is stable. They're still running tests, but so far, so good.’ He smiled. ‘Now everybody take a deep breath, and while Sean and I are gone--’

‘I'm coming with you, Uncle Mack,’ Allie interrupted.

‘Okay, then while Sean, Allie and I are gone, start thinking about how we can make tomorrow the best Thanksgiving Elijah has ever had.’

Have I mentioned lately how much I love my brother, Chris?

The rain had stopped, but it was still gray and gloomy and the roads were busy. Mack drove slowly and carefully, and despite the good news he'd brought about Elijah, we were all subdued. I sat with Allie in the back, holding tightly to her hand. Every telephone pole that flashed past reminded me of what had happened, how close I'd come to losing Elijah as I lost you.

It was during that ride that I looked deep inside myself and realized the depths of my self-deception and cowardice. That high moral horse I'd been riding was only an illusion. Elijah had always seen more clearly than I. He knew what real love was, none better, because he had lived with its false equivalent for so long. And yet never once had he blamed me for misjudging him. Instead he'd blamed himself. I was humbled, Chris. I felt unworthy, undeserving, but oddly no longer unsure. The shock of Elijah's accident blasted every obstacle away - and showed me the true depth of my feelings for him.

It's funny. When I met you, I knew instantly that we would become a couple, marry, start a family. The arrogance of youth, I suppose, and I paid, god how I paid, when you died - because it wasn't supposed to go like that. But even after I lost you, I didn't learn my lesson. I still expected life to proceed on a set path. Eventually, when enough time had passed, I'd meet a nice woman whom the girls would accept as their new mother, marry her, and have a second chance at happiness. Not the same level of happiness you and I shared, of course. I'd already decided _that_ would never happen again - with a blithe disregard for that poor 'nice woman' who would forever play second fiddle to you.

So what did life do? On Christmas Eve it did the entirely unexpected and sent me Elijah instead, to be not only my Clarence, as I thought, but also my love. To show me that the full richness of love and happiness was possible again, if I was brave enough and strong enough to recognize and embrace it. I failed the test miserably the first time, but I won't fail a second time, Chris.

*

*

*

It helped that Elijah had been taken to a different hospital from the one where you died, but the truth is that one hospital is pretty much like another. Mack parked, and we walked silently across the lot to the emergency room entrance. I had my arm tight around Allie, revealingly tight, for she looked at me and said softly, ‘Daddy, it's going to be okay.’ Mack briefly gripped my shoulder and said, ‘I know this is hard for you, Sean, but we'll get through it together. Just keep breathing.’

Easier said than done. The instant the doors opened, the disinfectant smell hit me and I went tumbling down the rabbit hole of the past. Everything about the emergency room - the lighting, the plastic chairs, the sick and injured people occupying them, the scrubs-clothed orderlies and nurses - triggered a wave of sickening memories. My desperation to see Elijah _alive_ with my own eyes warred with a nearly overpowering and cowardly urge to turn and flee.

Mack, bless him, understood. He took my arm, gently steered me to the front desk. I was fighting too hard to _just keep breathing_ to say anything. Mack spoke for me. ‘We're here to see a patient who was brought in earlier, Elijah Wood.’

The few seconds it took the receptionist behind the counter to answer Mack felt like an eternity, Chris. Would her expression become guarded? Would she tell us to wait, call the social worker and ER doctor in to break the bad news?

But nothing changed in her expression and she said at once, ‘Mr. Wood? Of course. If you'll please sign in here, I'll page Nurse Farmer to take you to his room.’

I can't lie, Chris. I'd been clutching onto the counter for support so hard that my hand was stiff and aching. It shook as I signed the visitor log, my name almost illegible. But at the same time, I finally accepted and believed that Elijah wasn't dying or dead. With acceptance came a sense of relief so overwhelming that I nearly wept, and in its aftermath I felt... well, this will sound ridiculous, but I felt like Popeye after eating a can of spinach: empowered, energized, a vessel spilling over with strength and purpose.

The receptionist paged the nurse, who thankfully only kept us waiting a minute or two. I immediately stepped forward to greet her, hand outstretched, and introduced myself. ‘This is my brother Mackenzie,’ I added, ‘and my daughter Alexandra. We're here to see Elijah Wood.’

‘Elijah is back this way,’ she said, gesturing to us to follow her. ‘I know he'll be very glad to see you.’

‘Can you update us on his condition?’ I asked. ‘My brother spoke to one of the ER doctors earlier, but...’

‘That was Dr. Shapiro, and he can fill you in fully. However I can tell you that Elijah's injuries seem to be entirely related to the airbag deploying: a broken collarbone and some bumps and bruises. He was just returned to his room after a CT scan, but honestly,’ Nurse Farmer paused and smiled reassuringly at us, ‘I don't think you need to worry about the results. His vitals are all strong.’

‘A broken collarbone?’ Allie exclaimed. ‘Oh poor Lijah.’

‘Is he going to be admitted?’ Mack said.

‘That's up to the doctor. If the CT scan is negative, probably not. And given that tomorrow is Thanksgiving, if at all possible we would prefer that he go home and spend the holiday with his loved ones.’ Nurse Farmer stopped outside a door. She looked at us. ‘Hospital policy is that only two people are allowed to visit at a time, but I think it's be okay to bend the rules a little. Just - like I said, Elijah has some bumps and bruises, so be prepared.’

In my mind's eye came a vision of Elijah in St. Cecilia's on Christmas Eve. I'd hoped never to see him that way again. But he was alive. _Alive._ I let impatience sweep me away, into the room, unwilling to wait even one more second to be with the man I loved.

The room was tiny, with barely enough room for the bed and a slew of monitors and other medical equipment. Elijah was lying in the bed, wearing a pale blue hospital gown, and with his left arm confined to a sling. His face was so pale that the bruises on it stood out starkly. His eyes were closed and for a hideous moment this time _your_ face was superimposed over  _his_ , and my heart stopped, until I saw the rise and fall of his chest beneath the thin white hospital blanket.

‘Elijah,’ I said softly, moving around the foot of the bed to his right side, and his eyes flew open. They were bloodshot and he had the beginnings of an impressive shiner around the left. But dear God, Chris, never had he looked so beautiful to me.

‘Sean!’ He half-sobbed my name and reached out with his good arm. I leaned down and held him in a careful, awkward embrace, needing this closeness as much as Elijah, but trying not to hurt him any more than he already was - or than I had in the past.

‘I'm sorry,’ Elijah whispered. ‘I'm so sorry, Sean.’

‘Shh,’ I said, stroking his hair. ‘Shh, it's not your fault. You did nothing wrong.’

‘But I shouldn't have given the police your number. I wasn't thinking straight. Sean, you must have been so freaked out...’

Even at time like that, Elijah's only thought was for me. ‘If you hadn't given them my number I would have freaked out.’ I pulled back, cupped my hands around his face as if I were cradling a fledgling bird. ‘Elijah, I love you. I'm here for you no matter what. And you're okay. You're okay.’ I rested my forehead against his, breathed deeply, looked up.

Elijah opened his mouth, clearly prepared to keep beating himself up about the matter. So I stopped him in the simplest, most direct manner possible: I kissed him. It certainly worked.

‘Uncle Mack, Daddy kissed Elijah,’ I heard Allie say in a stage whisper.

‘About time, wouldn't you say?’

Allie replied emphatically, ‘Yes!’

I swear I had completely forgotten that Allie and Mack were in the room. Elijah was no longer pale as the blanket but flushed bright red. ‘Ignore the peanut gallery,’ I said to him, actually smiling at his flustered reaction. ‘But I suppose the peanut gallery would like to get in here, too.’ I stepped back to make room for Allie and Mack, not without regret. I wanted nothing more than to hold Elijah for oh, the next century or so, as I wasn't able to hold you.

Tears welled up in Allie's eyes as she gently hugged Elijah. ‘Oh Lijah, your poor face. Does it hurt a lot?’

‘No,’ Elijah promptly replied. I'm very sure he was lying. He'd never admit to hurting, not to Allie or me. And that meant we were going to have our work cut out for us, preventing him from overdoing it. The thought made me smile a second time, because for that to happen, he had to be home and safe.

Allie held onto Elijah's hand while Mack took his turn to hug Elijah. ‘Thank god you're okay,’ he said quietly. ‘Sean won't admit it, but I will: we were all freaked out when we heard the news. But you have nothing to blame yourself for, Elijah. Bambi, on the other hand, had better have a damn good insurance company...’

Leave it to Mack. Elijah actually giggled. Then he sighed. ‘My car is totaled.’

‘It's a shame,’ Mack agreed, ‘but a car can always be replaced.’

‘But what about the turkey?’ Elijah added in mournful tones, continuing as if Mack hadn't spoken. ‘It was on the back seat.’

‘Screw the turkey,’ I said gruffly. ‘We'll use the free one from the supermarket that's in the freezer.’

‘But Sean,’ Elijah began.

Mack interrupted him. ‘Oh, I expect we can do better than a frozen Butterball,’ he said. ‘Leave the turkey procuring to me.’

A man stepped into the room then, dressed in scrubs with the ubiquitous stethoscope slung around his neck. Immediately we sobered and my previous surety vanished in an instant as I tried and failed to read his expression. ‘Dr. Shapiro,’ he said. ‘And let me relieve your anxiety right away. Elijah, your CT scan results are perfect. I don't see any reason you can't go home and spend Thanksgiving with your family.’

We had a moment then that I imagine would have done George Bailey and his family proud. I cried, Mack, Allie and I had a group hug, and there might even have been a cheer or two. I discovered that I was holding Elijah's hand, our fingers twined tightly together.

‘Can I leave now?’ Elijah asked, struggling to sit up. I slid an arm behind his back to support him.

The doctor smiled. ‘As soon as your discharge instructions are ready and we get a wheelchair in here for you. It won't take long. You'll need to follow up with an orthopedist about your collarbone.’

I jumped in. ‘Not a problem. I know an excellent orthopedist.’ You remember Pete O'Malley, Chris - I taught both his daughters. I've already set up an appointment for Elijah on Friday. Yes, I pulled some strings. No, I won't apologize for it.

‘Good,’ Dr. Shapiro said. ‘Just keep the sling on, Elijah, and take it easy for a few weeks while that collarbone heals. Nurse Farmer will be in shortly to go over the discharge instructions with you and then you can be on your way. I hope you have a very Happy Thanksgiving.’

‘You, too, Doctor,’ Elijah replied. ‘And thank you.’

After Dr. Shapiro departed, Mack said, ‘Allie and I will go bring the car around, Sean. You stay and keep Elijah company.’ He ushered Allie out of the room ahead of him, leaving me and Elijah alone, no doubt by design, bless him.

In the silence that followed, we looked at each other. I studied him closely, using this moment of calm to take in every bruise, every abrasion. The airbag undoubtedly saved him from serious injury - or worse - but I hate to see him hurt in any way.

‘How are you?’ I asked. ‘Be honest.’

‘Sore as hell,’ Elijah admitted. ‘But so fucking glad to be alive, Sean.’ He gave an odd little laugh. ‘I didn't always feel that way, you know? There were times I would have been glad to see it all ended. But not since I met you.’ His voice caught as he added, ‘Never since I met you.’

I turned his hand palm up and pressed a kiss into it. ‘And I am so fucking glad you are alive,’ I said. ‘Elijah, I-’

But of course that was precise moment Nurse Farmer came in, pushing a wheelchair. A glossy folder with the hospital logo lay on the seat. She picked it up and withdrew what seemed a mountain of paper. ‘Here are your discharge instructions, Elijah,’ she said. ‘I'll try to make this as quick and painless as possible, but feel free to stop me and ask any questions.’

I paid better attention than Elijah, I think. But it was straightforward enough. Icing the collarbone, keeping the sling on, resting. Dr. Shapiro had written a prescription for Percocet, but I could tell from the wary expression on Elijah's face as she showed it to him that he had no intention of filling it.

When she was done going over the paperwork, Nurse Farmer helped Elijah out of bed with careful competence. He _was_ sore; his movements were stiff, and I winced with his every wince as he shuffled to the chair where his clothes were piled. I let her help him dress, although it represented the profound change of the past hours that I felt _I_ should, that it was my place and my right. She loosely buttoned his flannel shirt over the sling, but I picked up his black leather jacket and draped it around him, and guided his steps to the wheelchair and eased him down into it. Nurse Farmer set the folder on Elijah's lap. I released the wheel brake, and we were off.

I'd be lying, Chris, if I said that my relief wasn't tempered by the knowledge that I hadn't been able to bring you home. Perhaps Elijah intuited my feelings. He looked up over his good shoulder and said again, ‘I'm so sorry, Sean.’ I squeezed his good shoulder and replied, ‘It's all right, Elijah.’

But his head went down and remained like that as I wheeled him through the corridor past a couple of unlucky souls occupying beds in the hallway. Viewed from that angle Elijah looked heartbreakingly young and vulnerable. I was struck by the ten year difference in our ages, I suppose because I couldn't see Elijah's eyes, with their ever present awareness of all the evils in this world. I can't give Elijah back innocence lost, but I can, and will, do my damnedest, Chris, to make certain that he is never again alone or unloved.

Mack and Allie were waiting just outside the exit. It was dusk now and growing cold. We said goodbye to Nurse Farmer and drove away, Elijah riding shotgun, Allie and I again in the back seat. I called your parents to tell them we were on the way back with Elijah, gave them an update on how he was doing.

‘Lizzy badly needs to hear his voice. She's been worried sick,’ your mother said. ‘Can you put him on for a minute?’

‘Of course, Helen,’ I replied. ‘Elijah, Lizzy wants to talk to you.’ I handed him my phone across the console; our fingertips brushed and despite everything I felt a pleasurable tingle, like a mild electrical charge.

‘Hey, Lizzy,’ Elijah said. ‘I'm okay.’ He paused. ‘Well, I banged up my collarbone and I've got a totally awesome black eye. You'll be very impressed.’ He continued with a few more pauses while Lizzy asked him questions, ‘The deer? It didn't get hurt, thankfully. Yeah, I'm gonna have to go car shopping again, but not right away, not until my collarbone is healed. Of course you can come with me. I absolutely need you to help me pick out the perfect car. Now I have to give your dad back his phone. Keep a spot on the couch warm for me, okay? We'll be home very soon.’ After a final pause he said softly, ‘I love you, too, Lizzy.’

Oh Chris. I found myself fighting back tears, and subject to the most conflicting emotions. I admit it: the thought of Elijah getting behind the wheel of a car again terrifies me. I want to wrap him cotton wool so that nothing can ever happen to him. Life doesn't work that way, of course, nor should it. Nor can I bow to the inner demons that nearly vanquished me after you died.

It was pretty clear to me when we got home that Elijah was nearing the end of his tether, although he did his best to act as if he was holding up okay. Before any of us could stop her, Lizzy flung herself at Elijah and wrapped her arms around him. Thankfully I was right there to steady him.

‘Easy, Lizzy,’ I cautioned her, but she only shook her head and clung tighter. Could I blame her? My eyes met Elijah's; his were suspiciously bright.

‘I could use that spot on the couch you've been keeping warm for me, Lizzy Lizard,’ he said. That did the trick, and with a look of determination that left me torn between laughter and tears, she took his good hand in hers and said, ‘Come with me, Lijah.’

He hobbled into the family room and immediately he sat down he was surrounded in a cocoon of warmth and love, with kids and cats cuddled close on either side.

‘Do you want me to get that prescription filled?’ I asked him.

‘No, Tylenol will do me fine.’ Elijah looked as if he would have said more if we were alone, perhaps, as I'd suspected at the hospital, related some painful story from his past.

‘Tylenol it is then,’ I replied. ‘I'll be right back.’ I didn't want to leave him, even for a few minutes, but it was necessary to make myself do so. And it paid unexpected dividends, Chris, as you'll see.

I went into the kitchen, where I found your mother preparing to put a pot of water on to boil. Two unopened boxes of spaghetti sat on the counter. ‘Nuh-uh,’ I said, striding over and turning off the burner. ‘You've done more than enough for us today. I'll order pizza.’

‘You're sure?’ Helen asked. ‘I don't mind, Sean.’

‘But I mind for you, Ma Harrell. We're getting pizza.’ I pulled out my cell phone for emphasis.

She conceded defeat. ‘Well, all right.’ I made the call, ordered two extra large pies and a couple of salads. When I was done, I went to the cupboard where the Tylenol is kept and took down the bottle. ‘For Elijah,’ I said. ‘He doesn't want anything stronger.’

‘Does he need something stronger?’

‘Probably,’ I replied, filling a glass with tap water. ‘He's hurting.’

Something in my expression brought all her protective instincts to the fore. ‘Oh Sean.’ She held out her arms. I set down the glass and walked into them. ‘I am happy that Elijah is home again.’

I could read the wistfulness behind the sentiment, although I knew it was totally genuine: she was happy, but like me, the inevitable pain at the knowledge that you had _not_ come home was present, too. I opened my mouth to offer comfort, poor as any comfort would be, but what came out was something entirely different: ‘Helen, I love him.’

I can see you shaking your head, Chris. Speak Without Thinking Sean, that's me. I hadn't planned on breaking the news to your parents until I figured out what the hell _I_ was going to do about my feelings for Elijah, but the events of the day had completely demolished my plans, such as they were.

‘Have I shocked you?’ I asked.

‘No,’ she said. ‘Jim and I have suspected for some time that you have feelings for Elijah. And of course, it's been almost painfully obvious since the beginning how Elijah feels about you. It's been a worry to us, Sean. We care about that young man very much and we were afraid things would end badly for him.’

Which they almost did, thanks to my willful blindness. ‘If you knew, why didn't you say anything?’

‘We thought about it. But in the end, we decided that it wasn't our place to interfere, and more importantly that Chris would never have wanted us to. This is your life, your future. _You_ are the one who has to make the choices that determine it, not us.’

I realized I'd had a similar exchange with Mack. ‘Did _everyone_ know before I did?’ It came out sounding decidedly peevish, I'm ashamed to say.

At that Helen smiled. ‘Sometimes things are harder to see the closer you are to them.’

True enough, and ultimately irrelevant: I had seen, if nearly too late. I studied your mother's face, trying to read her expression but only seeing yet again, with a pang, how very much you resembled her. ‘I want to be with Elijah,’ I said. ‘I want the five of us, him and me and the girls, to be a family. Are you and Jim okay with that? It may be my choice - and Elijah's - but I hope you know how much I love you both and how much I value your opinions. I can't say that I'll give him up if you disapprove, but I'd hate like hell to hurt either of you.’ And then I added, perhaps unfairly, ‘It will make the rough road ahead so much smoother if you're on our side.’

‘Jim and I have always tried to be open minded, and to raise our children to be the same,’ she replied. ‘I could wish your choice was more traditional, because the road ahead _is_ going to be rough, Sean. This is a small town with a small town mentality, and you're a teacher. I can't see the school board approving of an openly gay teacher, especially once some of the parents find out and raise a ruckus.’

Not to mention some of my fellow teachers, like Laura Sandberg. I could already hear her triumphant 'I told you so', even though nothing happened between me and Elijah on the trip to Bloomington.

Bloomington. There it was again, intruding on my consciousness. I'd been thinking about B-Town earlier as I watched Bella sleep, recalling the plans you and I had had, and suddenly I felt compelled to make another confession that I had had no intention of making. But seeing how open and honest your mother was being with me, I owed her the same.

‘Chris and I discussed moving to Bloomington if I could get a job teaching at the University,’ I said. ‘That could still be in the cards. Obviously it's a massive decision involving the entire family, but it might make things easier on us all in the long run.’ And I felt that surge of excitement again at the idea, at the revival of the dream we had shared, even if you could no longer be a part of it.

Helen didn't look surprised or shocked. ‘Chris mentioned it to us a time or two,’ she said calmly. ‘She wanted her father and me to be prepared in case you decided to do that. She was very much in favor of the idea, Sean. I think she felt you were...’ She lifted her hands in a shrug. ‘Not precisely _wasted_ here, because you're a wonderful teacher and your students adore you, but perhaps _unfulfilled_ might be a better word.’

You never told me that you spoke to your parents about our Bloomington dream, Chris. But you no doubt had your reasons, and I always trusted that you knew best for us both. Now I'm glad you did, because what I said didn't come out of left field for her.

Helen went on quietly, ‘Chris would want you to be happy, and if Elijah is the one who can make you so then Jim and I will support you in every way we can, whether it's here or in Bloomington.’

‘You mean that.’ It wasn't a question.

‘Very much so.’ She hesitated and then continued, ‘I won't lie, Sean. I was very concerned when you offered Elijah a home. Charity is a virtue too few people truly take to heart, and I believe in lending a helping hand where I can - but not if it might hurt my granddaughters. How did we know Elijah was to be trusted? And then you and the girls came down with the 'flu in February. Remember? No one could have shown more devotion than Elijah did then.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘I do believe that young man would willingly give his life for the four of you, and that's not an exaggeration.’

‘No, it's not,’ I agreed. Elijah had said it himself and meant every word. I looked at her, hoping my love and gratitude for her acceptance showed in my eyes. ‘Helen, thank you,’ I said gruffly.

Her expression grew sad. ‘Christine loved you very much, Sean,’ she said.

I blinked back a sudden rush of hot tears. ‘And I loved her very much and I still do and I always will. Nothing will ever change that.’ You know that's true, Chris. Your place in my heart is sacrosanct. But the heart is a funny organ, isn't it - kind of like that tent Harry Potter camped in. The inside is far more spacious than you'd ever imagine from the outside.

We embraced again, and then she pulled back, squared her shoulders and said, ‘You'd better take Elijah that Tylenol and I'll rustle up some paper plates and napkins and bring them into the family room. The pizza will be here before you know it.’

I returned to the family room, humbled by my conversation with your mother. She is an amazing woman, like you, and I am beyond blessed to have her and Jim and Mack in my corner, not to mention our three equally amazing daughters.

The mood was more somber than celebratory when the pizza arrived, although I suppose I might have been imagining that, influenced by my own somber frame of mind. The buzz of elation over Elijah's narrow escape was fading, replaced by the remembered horror of the hours following your death and the knowledge of how close we had come to reliving that time. I felt wrung out, exhausted, and wanting only to lie down with Elijah in my arms and hold him.

And that raised another issue: my vow to you in these letters that the next time Elijah slept in this house, it would be in a bed we shared. Clearly he isn't fit to go back to his apartment, nor will he be able to manage on his own for several weeks until his collarbone is healed. He could go and stay with Mack again, but I want him here with us, his family. And that means occupying his old room. Fate does have a way of making me eat my words, doesn't it?

I expected to have to convince Elijah that it was okay to move back in, at least temporarily, but I reckoned without the girls. When he finished his pizza - he barely managed to force down a single slice, which told me how gutted he was - he asked Mack, ‘Can you give me a lift back to my apartment?’ Well, the girls raised such a ruckus at the thought of him and Tom leaving that he meekly subsided, although not without a somewhat apprehensive glance at me. I just smiled. He smiled sheepishly back and for a moment all else faded away as we looked at each other.

Mack did leave a few minutes later, but for Elijah's apartment, to pack up some of his clothes and other necessities. It was a little early for Lizzy and Bella to go to bed, but it was clear that the stress of the day had taken a toll on them, too, although Lizzy clung stubbornly to Elijah and protested when I picked her up. ‘Elijah isn't going anywhere, sweetheart. I promise you,’ I told her. ‘Now give him a kiss goodnight.’ I lowered her so that she could kiss him on the cheek, and he said, ‘You know you can trust your dad, right? Like he said, I'm not going anywhere.’ She didn't look absolutely convinced, but she let me hand her to your father while your mother picked up Bella. ‘Allie, will you give me a hand?’ she asked, and so Allie went away with them and that left me in charge of Elijah - probably by Helen's design. She is going to be an invaluable ally for us, Chris.

‘You're really okay with me staying?’ Elijah predictably asked when we were alone.

‘Think of it as doing me a favor,’ I replied. ‘I won't get a wink of sleep for worrying if you aren't where I can keep an eye on you. You'd probably stay up all night trying to get Thanksgiving dinner ready, one-armed.’

He smiled reluctantly. ‘But what about Thanksgiving dinner? In all seriousness, Sean, I can't cook like this.’ He gestured at the sling and added in a voice so wistful it nearly broke my heart, ‘I wanted to make Thanksgiving special for you and now it's ruined.’

‘No, it's not. You have at your disposal an army of willing volunteers ready to do your bidding, General Wood. You just tell us what to do, and we'll do it. And,’ I said quietly, ‘far from ruining Thanksgiving, you've given us extra reason to give thanks. Now up you get.’ I held out my hand.

‘I could just sleep on the couch,’ he said, reluctant to move, and I replied, ‘Take it from me, you don't want to.’ He flushed and looked stricken and I could have bitten off my tongue for reminding him of what happened on New Year's Eve - and the consequences. ‘I didn't mean that,’ I said. ‘Elijah, we have to move past that night. It's time to let it go.’

His good hand was gripping his knee, fingers flexing and unflexing, a clear sign of nerves. ‘I want to, Sean. I want to so badly, you have no idea. But I'm afraid.’

I could see it in his eyes, Chris, bloodshot though they were: his desperation and his fear. I knelt and took his hand between mine.

‘Don't be afraid. Please. Elijah, I swear to you by all I hold dear that what happened that night is over and forgotten. Will you trust me?’ Maybe I had no right to ask him after what I'd done, sending him into exile.

‘Sean, I trust you more than anyone I've ever known. It's not you I don't trust, it's me. It's my past and what I've been and done.’ He whispered, ‘The closer I come to happiness, the more terrified I am. I don't deserve it.’

‘I seem to recall someone telling me recently that there's one person I need to forgive: myself. It was very wise advice, and perhaps you should take it, too.’

‘I'll try.’

‘Good, because no one is more deserving than you, Elijah.’ I leaned in and kissed him gently, although to be honest, Chris, a part of me wanted to push Elijah back and make love to him, mend once and for all the damage done on New Year's Eve. It was impossible, of course, for too many reasons to count, so instead I said, ‘Now up you get, before you pass out cold.’ I rose and pulled Elijah up with me.

He let out a small groan of pain as his sore body protested, but after walking the length of the room, he was moving more easily and under his own power, which was an encouraging sign.

He paused in front of the mirror over the chest of drawers in the hall. ‘Oh shit,’ he said in dismay. ‘My face. My _eyes_. How could you possibly kiss me? I look like the swamp creature from that sci-fi movie.’

‘I beg to differ. As far as I'm concerned, you've never looked better.’ I was deadly serious, but also oddly touched and a little amused. Elijah pays almost no attention to his looks; in fact it has often seemed to me as if he hates having been born beautiful, which is hardly surprising given how he's been objectified. I recall the evening in B-Town when we went to Uncle Elizabeth's - so much about Elijah's behavior that night now makes sense to me - and I realize that he'd dressed up for _me_. And I realize, too, that all my exercising and dieting has been for him. Truly, I've been blind, Chris.

‘Sean...’ Elijah turned away from his reflection, rested his head against me. Chris, I can't begin to tell you what that gesture means to me. It was the first time he's allowed himself the liberty of treating me as if I belong to him, and heartens me beyond description. ‘I'm sorry for giving you such a scare,’ he whispered.

I stroked his hair and said, ‘Don't make a habit of it, that's all I ask.’

‘I'll try not to.’ He lifted his head and I took advantage of his nearness to kiss him again.

‘Are _you_ going to make a habit of _this_?’ he asked, sounding breathless.

‘Probably. Do you mind?’

‘Nooo... but I thought we decided to be friends only?’

‘You're letting me off the hook too easily,’ I chided him. ‘I don't recall any 'we' about it. Just me being a cowardly idiot.’

‘Don't say that,’ Elijah immediately protested. ‘You're neither of those things.’

‘Oh, but I am. Only this isn't the best time to debate the matter. But Elijah, coming so close to losing you just like I did Chris - it opened my eyes to some hard truths about myself that I should have seen before.’ Elijah opened his mouth, obviously intending to come to my defense again, but I stopped him, this time with a finger against his lips. ‘Right now the thing to focus on is that I love you. Anything else can wait.’

‘I can wait forever. I love you so much, Sean.’

‘It won't be forever, not even close,’ I promised. ‘Ready to tackle those stairs?’

He managed them slowly, pausing twice on the way, and we went down the hall to his old bedroom. I could hear the girls and your parents talking, and a comforting sensation of _rightness_ settled over me. Elijah is back where he belongs, with his family, and even if it isn't the homecoming I hoped for, that's okay. Chris, he's _home_.

The door was already open, the light on, and I saw that Helen had somehow found time to make up the bed. I hadn't been inside Elijah's room in weeks, not wanting to witness its depressing emptiness, and a rush of memories hit me. I can only guess how it was for Elijah. He halted just inside the doorway.

‘You okay?’ I asked, and he nodded.

Tom limped around us and jumped up the bed, curling up contentedly in the middle. I could hear his raspy purr. He was certainly glad to be home. ‘I wonder how he'll feel about sharing a bed with the two of us,’ I remarked.

Hardly had the words left my mouth when Elijah _did_ break down, abruptly and completely. I guided him to the bed and we sat down side by side. Tom climbed into his lap, while I put a careful arm around him. He buried his face in my shoulder, and his entire body shook with the force of his silent sobs. I don't like to think about why he can cry so silently, Chris.

I wanted to cry myself, instead I retreated into humor, ‘You think Tom will be _that_ upset?’

Elijah somehow managed a laugh. ‘I think he'll be as happy as I am.’

‘Aha, so you _are_ happy. Now you just have to get used it,’ I gently teased. ‘Only it's going to be awkward as hell if you're constantly in tears, because I intend to make you very, very happy, Elijah. Maybe you can save them for special occasions.’

His laugh this time was easier and totally genuine. ‘All right, I'll save them for special occasions.’

And that's when I decided that I'm going to make it official on Christmas Eve, the anniversary of our first meeting - a very special occasion indeed. Elijah should be on the mend by then, and what better time to begin our life together? But I've also decided not to say anything to him yet. I want it to be a surprise, Chris. I can see you rolling your eyes and reminding me that a couple is made up of two people, not one, and maybe I should consult Elijah first. No doubt you're right. I'm still doing it this way, though, because... well, is there any doubt how he'll react? And realistically, for now at least, I'm going to have to take the lead, because if I wait for Elijah to do it, we'll both be old and gray and I'll probably be a great-grandfather ten times over.

Reluctantly I released my hold on him. ‘I better go say goodnight to the girls. Do you need the bathroom first?’

‘Definitely,’ he said.

I helped him up, tried not to hover too obviously as he walked slowly along the hall to the bathroom. At the door I asked, ‘Can you manage?’

He replied without expression, ‘I can. I've done it before.’ I knew there was a story behind this, something ugly that he hadn't shared, another in the litany of abuse he'd suffered as a child. Bile rose in my throat, but I forced it back, forced myself to leave him to manage. ‘I'll be back as quickly as I can.’

I wasn't as quick as I would have liked. I met Helen and Jim in the hallway, and your mother said, ‘Bella's out like a light, but I'm afraid Lizzy is still feeling the shock, Sean. We can't get her to settle. She needs you.’

‘I'll go right in, but first...’ I gave her a mighty hug. ‘Thank you for everything, Ma Harrell.’

‘We'll be over around one o'clock,’ Jim said. ‘Unless you need us to come earlier?’

‘No, one o'clock is fine. Have a lie in. You've both earned it.’

Your father squeezed my shoulder. ‘It's been a difficult day for all of us, Sean, but you especially. Try and get some rest.’

‘I will,’ I said, but I doubt either of them believed me.

Your mother was right: Lizzy did need me. While Bella was sound asleep with Shrek curled up beside her, Lizzy was still awake and when she saw me, her face crumpled. I cradled her in my lap and rocked her as I had when she was a baby. ‘I don't want Lijah to be an angel like Mommy,’ she said tearfully.

‘Sweetheart, I promise you that isn't going to happen. Elijah is going to be fine. It'll just take a few weeks for his collarbone to heal and he'll be good as new.’

She wasn't consoled, Chris. ‘And then he'll leave us again and I don't want him to, Daddy. Why can't he stay here forever and ever?’

I couldn't bear to offer any of the adult pap we too often tell children. ‘Well, if you like I'll tell you a secret,’ I said, and she stared at me wide-eyed as an owl. ‘Only you have to promise not to say anything to anyone, not even Elijah, until I give you permission.’ She nodded vigorously and I said, ‘Cross your heart?’ She nodded again and solemnly crossed her heart. ‘Okay then, here's the secret: when Elijah is all better, I'm going to ask him to stay with us forever and ever and be your second daddy.’

‘Really?’

‘Really, cross my heart.’ And I did.

Chris, her face lit up like a lantern and she flung her arms around my neck in a choke hold, saying, ‘Oh Daddy, that's the best secret _ever_.’

The fizz of excitement needed to disperse before she could fall asleep, but I sang softly to her - The Beatles' 'Good Night', your favorite - and her eyes closed and soon her breathing evened as she slept. I kissed her and Bella, shut off the light and went to Allie's room. She was already in bed, but she had her journal propped on her knees and was writing in it. God, with her head tilted down and a strand of hair tucked behind her ear, she looked so much like you...

‘Can I come in?’ I asked. She's reached an age now where I have to respect her privacy, Chris. I know you'd want me to.

She glanced up and smiled brightly at me. ‘I just finished,’ she said, closing the journal and setting it aside. ‘How's Lijah?’

‘Pretty beat,’ I replied. I sat next to her on the bed and she leaned against me. ‘Worried about tomorrow, too.’

‘We can be his hands,’ Allie said.

‘That's my girl.’ I kissed the top of her head. ‘I'm so proud of you, Allie. Going to the hospital today can't have been easy for you.’

‘Lijah needed us,’ was her simple answer.

‘He did,’ I agreed. ‘And we need him.’ I hesitated and then said carefully, ‘So, you seemed okay with me kissing him...’

‘Of course. You love each other.’

It's hard to remember back to when I saw things so simplistically, Chris - and by that I mean stripped to their essence, to what is truly important. It's not that those six words of Allie's miraculously removed the problems facing our family if Elijah and I become a couple, but they reduced them to their proper proportion. What had first seemed to be unscalable heights and then walls over which we might, with enough strength, manage to climb, were now no taller than a child's building blocks. Can love move mountains? Undoubtedly, but maybe it doesn't always have to.

‘I don't want another mommy,’ Allie said. ‘But I'm glad Elijah is our daddy, too.’

‘So am I,’ I replied quietly. ‘So am I.’ We stayed like that in silence for a while then I said, ‘Don't stay up too late, sweetheart.’

‘I won't. Good night, Daddy. I love you.’

‘I love you, too. See you in the morning.’

I returned to Elijah's room, to find him in bed with Tom curled up on the pillow next to his head. His eyes were open, watching for me, but he looked utterly exhausted.

‘You should be asleep,’ I said, pulling up a chair by the bed.

‘I don't want to sleep,’ he protested.

‘You sound like Lizzy,’ I teased.

That made him grin reluctantly, but he said, ‘Is she okay?’

I owed him the truth, Chris, a truth that took me nearly two years and a lot of therapy to figure out. ‘She will be, but in some ways I think Chris's death hit her hardest, Elijah. Bella was too young to understand while Allie was old enough to decide that I needed taking care of. But nothing cushioned the blow for Lizzy.’ I sighed. ‘What happened today brought it all back for her, I'm afraid.’

‘God, Sean, I'm so sorry.’

‘I know you are, and I know that you'd cut off your own arm before you'd ever willingly hurt any of the girls. But I also know, as do you, that children are remarkably resilient. Lizzy had a scare, we all did, but she's seen you with her own eyes and she knows that you'll be here in the morning.’ I took his hand, laced my fingers with his. ‘Perhaps, in a strange way you did us a favor.’

‘What do you mean?’ Elijah asked, puzzled.

‘I mean that we were forced to confront our deepest fear today and guess what? We survived. _What doesn't kill you makes you stronger,_ as they say. You getting hurt, though...’ My grip tightened. ‘Nothing is worth that.’

What Elijah said next nearly wrecked me. ‘I don't know, Sean. Maybe I did myself a favor, too. I'd rather have a broken collarbone than a broken heart.’

‘It never should have been broken in the first place,’ I said, raising his hand to my lips. ‘But there, we're putting all that behind us and besides, what you need right now is rest, not conversation. Close your eyes and go to sleep. Don't worry, Elijah. I promise I'll stay with you,’ I added, catching a flicker of fear in his eyes. _Forever._

‘I heard you singing 'Good Night' to Lizzy,’ he said. ‘Will you sing it to me? I love your voice.’

‘For a music geek, you have strange tastes,’ I joked. ‘But if you insist...’

Elijah settled back, closed his eyes, and I began to sing.

‘ _Now it's time to say good night. Good night, sleep tight. Now the sun turns out his light, good night, sleep tight. Dream sweet dreams for me, dream sweet dreams for you.’_

By the time I reached the word 'you', Elijah was out cold. I kept on singing until I heard a sound and turned my head to see Mack tiptoe into the room carrying Elijah's suitcase. I got up and met him, holding a finger to my lips.

‘How's Elijah?’ he whispered as he set down the suitcase.

I knew what he was really asking. ‘At peace, I think,’ I replied.

‘And you?’

Something that had been gripping my insides finally relaxed its hold. I said quietly, ‘The same, Mackie.’ I choked up. ‘We would never have made it this far without you. Thank you for being there for us, but especially for Elijah.’

‘I love him, too, you know. Like a brother,’ he added with a smile.

‘Good thing. We don't need any more complications.’

Mack chuckled then glanced at his watch. ‘I better get back to the restaurant. We’re a cook short with Elijah out and it’s all hands on deck. Family comes first, though. If you need me for any reason, call.’

After he left, I opened Elijah's suitcase and put his things away, handling his clothes with a new sense of awareness and curiosity about the body they cover. It occurs to me that I have a brave new world to explore, with Elijah as my guide. I don’t know when that journey will finally begin, but I can wait. When the time is right, it will happen. After I stored his suitcase in the closet, I resumed my spot by the bed.

I'm still here, writing to you and keeping vigil while he sleeps. It's funny how history repeats itself. I did the same once before, on St. Patrick's Day. In retrospect I see that my feelings for him were already powerful, more powerful than perhaps can be attributed solely to friendship, although I don't think I was in love with him then. On the cusp, maybe. Attracted, definitely, even if I couldn't, or wouldn't, see it back then.

It's past midnight and Thanksgiving Day has arrived. I never would have thought I'd say this, only a little over two years since I lost you, but I do indeed have much for which to be thankful. Our daughters first and foremost, of course: tangible reminders of the love we shared and the hopefulness we felt about the future, but three bright, beautiful individuals in their own right. Your parents, proving over and over their openness of heart and unfailing generosity. Mack, the very best of brothers. And the most unexpected blessing of all: Elijah, first my Clarence and now my love.

I meant what I said to Mack, Chris. I am finally at peace. Self-knowledge can have that effect, and though I will always hate that it took Elijah being in an accident to open my eyes, I've let go of fear at last.

Tell me, are you smiling? I think you are. I think this is what you wanted from the day I met Elijah in St. Cecilia’s. I’m only sorry it took me so long to understand. But then, as I said to Helen, it seems as if everyone figured out my feelings for him before I did.

I should bring this letter to an end and check on the girls. But I won’t go to bed, Chris; I promised Elijah I’d stay with him, and I will.

Happy Thanksgiving, my dearest. I love and miss you always.

Love,

Sean


End file.
